


An Unexpected Love

by mitsukai613



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:46:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3387359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most elves only have one love in their life; Thranduil thought his lost many years before. Some elves, however, are blessed with a second name on their hearts, and Thranduil has felt his own stirring ever since he got a collection of dwarven prisoners in his dungeons. After a short period of horror in which he fears one of the dwarves is his love, he realizes that there has been a hobbit in his dungeons, hiding in order to help them.</p>
<p>Also, this is dedicated to the person who requested it on fanfiction.net, vampygurl402.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa, I'm posting more than one thing in a day? Since when did this happen? I guess when I got the bright idea to have been working on more than one fic on fanfiction.net while not posting the chapters of said fic here, then deciding that this would be my next main fic. Wow, I'm a genius, huh? Anyway, I'm putting this up now just so the two accounts can be matched again and I don't have to confuse myself while writing and posting. 
> 
> Also, and this is entirely unrelated, I have a very, very large collection of unfinished stories for various fandoms currently hiding in the depths of my laptop, and I'm entirely unsure which, if any of them, should ever be transformed into full fics and which should be deleted and subsequently banished into cyber-death, never to be seen again. I've been sort of considering just putting all those little snippets on here and letting you guys, the ones who'd be reading them, choose which ones you'd like to see finished and which you think I should trash, because they really are getting sort of out of hand. If you guys would like me to do something like that, let me know!

                My king Thranduil was… flustered. I felt a little strange saying that, of course, but it was truth, even if… unprecedented. Rather than sitting calmly in his throne room as he normally did, he was pacing constantly, glaring at anyone who happened to come across him, his expression dark and dangerous.

                I’d never seen him act that way before, and even Prince Legolas seemed faintly fearful for his father’s state, something I’d seen happen only very rarely since his youth. I’d even caught him spending days inside, near the throne room, when he could’ve been out hunting with the girl Tauriel, and that truly was something I’d never imagined occurring. Eventually it grew so awful that he couldn’t even bring himself to sit, instead spending his days lurking near the dungeon door, suffering and anger blatant on his face where before I’d only ever seen blank indifference.

                “My Lord Thranduil?” I finally asked him, and he hummed in response, gaze fixed on the door to the dungeons as if it held the secret to his madness. “You are not… acting like yourself. Many of your guard, myself included, are worried over you; your son is as well, I’m certain. May I enquire as to what is bothering you so?” He actually laughed, low and faint, still not looking at me. I’d never heard him laugh before, and if it always sounded such, I wasn’t entirely sure that I even wanted to hear it more often.

                “Can you not tell? You are wedded, are you not?” Oh, dear; I could very well understand his distress, then, if what I thought he was implying was correct. When an elf is near the being they are meant to spend their lives with, they grow… bothered, I suppose is the least offensive word. Some men have even said that we lose our elfishness in such cases, most especially when the other being is not an elf. For Thranduil’s One to be a dwarf… the mere idea could set any elf to gagging in disgust.

                “One of _them,_ King?” He tightened his lips, crossing his arms harshly.

                “You think I am pleased about that? Yet there is no mistaking it. I feel as I did when, so many years ago, I met my wife. I had thought I would never feel this way again, yet it seems I was given another name to bear, this one a torment rather than a blessing.” I coughed, quiet, not quite able to look him in the face.

                “So you plan to… to confront them? To see which one it is?” He nodded.

                “Yes. You must know I cannot ignore it.” I did, but I could see on his face that he wouldn’t relish in me saying so, just then. I bowed instead, slowly moving away and hoping I could find anything else to do, yet he caught me by the arm, jaw clenched, and shook his head. “No. You come with me, to make sure I do not _slay_ them for this.” As if any of them would be pleased about it either, especially given that dwarves suffered from a similar ailment when their One was near; whoever was to belong to my king would be feeling this fiercely as well. I supposed I could only hope, for both the sake of the dwarves and my king, that his One was not found to be their king Thorin. I could tell that Thranduil was hoping the same as he threw open the dungeon door and marched down the long, narrow stairs with me at his back, nervous over the outcome of the upcoming conversations.

* * *

 

                Thranduil walked slowly, eyes lidded and glinting like coins in the darkness. I could hear the dwarves even from near the top of the stairwell, a large cluster of them apparently joining together in some lively tune to keep their spirits up. Thranduil looked around as we neared the first of the occupied cells, though if the tales I had heard were true, he saw little, being blinded in one eye from some prior battle I hadn’t been alive to see. I assumed he was letting his heart lead him, tug him to whichever of the dwarves it was that had been tied to him by fate’s fickle hands.

                I half expected him to pause by the cells of the two younglings of Durin’s blood, the brothers who had desperately refused to be parted from one another. I had been surprised, a little, by the kindness of the guards in heeding their whims and letting them share a cell, but I supposed they’d felt pity. The two were, after all, scarcely more than children. They jeered at us like adults, though, like they were the rulers and not the prisoners when we passed, leaving cell after cell full of dwarves in our wake as he strode deeper into the dungeons. My worry mounted the nearer we drew to Thorin Oakenshield’s separate cell, and I could see my king growing steadily more edgy as well, his expression growing ever more taut, eyes half-pained. When we passed the last occupied cell before Oakenshield’s I almost thought I saw him suppress a scream.

                “I felt nothing when he was brought here,” he said, “nothing but disgust at what he would do, at the devastation that would be wrought if the things I know he plans were done.” I said nothing because I knew he would know the only answer I could give; the effect was not always, or even often, immediate. His hand twitched towards his chest, towards his heart, where I knew he would be aching, as we grew ever closer to Thorin’s cell.

                Voices sounded whisperingly down the hall, one obviously Thorin’s, low and gravely and likely desperate for water, and the other quieter, unfamiliar. My king’s eyes went narrow and he strode forward faster, myself actually struggling to keep up. I almost felt my own heart stop at what we found, though; Thorin was alone, leaning against the wall of his cell and staring blankly at the opposite wall. His eyes flashed to us as soon as we were in sight, though, and he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, standing as if to greet us.

                My king stood before him stiffly, mouth turned down in a harsh frown, and Oakenshield only raised one thick brow. They were not acting like two who were destined for one another, to be certain. I stood slightly away and prayed only that they did not try to fight through the bars.

                “Who was here, Oakenshield?” Thranduil questioned, voice flat, and I heard something like footsteps going down a nearby hall. I and Thranduil both turned to face the noise and saw nothing but empty air. Thorin’s lips actually turned upwards for a split second, a smug smirk he had no right to don.

                “I am alone, elf, just as you desired me to be. Who could reach me in the depths of your dungeon?” His voice sounded clearer than it had before; whoever had been here had brought him water. Thranduil stepped forward, curling his fist in the dwarf’s coat, expression darkening even further with rage. Oh, no; knowledge hit me suddenly, unwelcome and worrying. Thranduil’s One was not a dwarf, or at least not a dwarf we’d caught; it was whoever had been here with Thorin.

                “I heard you speaking to someone, dwarf. Who was it? Who did my hunters not find? Who have you collected so competent as to live through the Mirkwood alone and break into my dungeons?” Oakenshield actually smiled, almost teasing and not even bothering to react to the tight hold Thranduil had on him.

                “Who indeed? You know who can enter and leave your dungeons better than I, elf lord.” My king flashed teeth, anger like I’d never seen darkening his gaze as he shoved the dwarf away.

                “I will find him, dwarf, and when I do, you will regret not telling me where he hides and who he is.” Oakenshield only laughed, cracked lips splitting into a wild grin.

                “I know not of who you speak, elf lord; I am alone.”

                “Yet your voice is new with water and your belly sated when I have sent no one yet to bring you food or drink today.”

                “I am of hardier stock than your folk, elf, and I have practice going without.” Thranduil didn’t believe him, but then he didn’t seem to really be making any attempt to be believed; he knew well enough that we’d heard a voice not his own. My lord turned, suddenly, sweeping down the hallway where we’d heard the steps, and I followed as best as I could manage, hoping against hope that I could manage to hold him back if Thorin’s mad laughter incited him to turn back around and kill the caged dwarf where he stood.

                It seemed like my worry was unfounded, though; I should’ve suspected. Even like this, suffering from the knowledge of his One being so close, Thranduil had more self-control than most. Still, he marched down the hallway like a man possessed, moving through the dark halls with practiced ease not even the most seasoned dungeon guards possessed. Always I felt as if we were moving towards something or someone, and periodically I even thought I heard breathing, desperate pattering footsteps too light to belong to a dwarf and just a little too stumbling to be an elf.

                “Thranduil, my lord?” I eventually had to ask, and he hushed me immediately, still frowning.

                “I feel you here, little thing; you hide well in your shadows, but you cannot hide from one who needs no sight to see. Show yourself, and I will not harm you.” Quick breath; I could hear it now that I was really paying attention, though it was faint and I could’ve easily mistaken it for Thranduil’s if not for how panicked it sounded. I heard clothing rustle a few feet beside me and my hand shot out reflexively, closing around something solid that felt like hair. My king gave me a smile, almost kind, and settled his hand beside mine, brushing my own hold away. The breath grew quicker and Thranduil crouched as if looking into the creature’s face.

                “What is this?” I asked, almost to myself, and as such I received no answer.

                “Still you refuse to show yourself, even when you are so undoubtedly here?” There was an uncommon fondness to Thranduil’s voice, one I’d only heard before when he spoke to his son. Yes, whatever this thing was, it was certainly my lord’s one. “Fine; I do not demand you show yourself to me yet, alright? If you would only speak, I would be pleased.” A deep breath from the empty place on which Thranduil had settled his hand, and then… then a voice, the voice we’d heard by Thorin’s cell, a kind, soft, proper voice, and certainly not a dwarven one.

                “What… what would you have me say?” Fear tinged the voice; I could understand that. Periodically, Thranduil frightened me as well. He was… a deadly foe, to be sure, and sometimes even a deadly ally. My king chuckled, faint, his face taking on a distinctly pleased cast.

                “Your name, for a start. What you are, why you travelled here with dwarves, how you survived the forest, how you entered my dungeons, how you hide yourself so.”

                “I am… my name is Bilbo. I am a hobbit, from the Shire. The rest… that isn’t so simple to explain, and I would rather not when my friends are being held captive here.” Very brave, especially for a hobbit, if that was truly what it was. I’d never seen one myself, and I’d been told that they never left their pleasant Shire. If this one had, and had done so with knowledge of where it was going and what it was doing, it was a special thing indeed. Thranduil smiled kindly, comfortingly, seeming to stroke the creature’s invisible hair, and nodded.

                “I cannot set them free, but I can give better accommodations, at least for a time, until I am given a real answer as to your reasons for being in my forest. Will you show yourself to me now, with that promise?” Silence, for a moment, and still no sign of the hidden creature who called itself Bilbo and who already had my lord wrapped tight around its little finger. I wondered if hobbits had Ones, if it could feel the same draw towards my king that my king felt towards him.

                “How do I believe you? You have no… no love for dwarves.” He shrugged.

                “I do not, and yet you interest me. I am willing to do much for those things that I find interesting after so many years of knowing so much and seeing so little new. Besides, I am a king and I am an elf; I do not break my word once I have given it. Show yourself to me and talk to me and I will give them a better place to rest their heads and good food to eat and wine to drink. They will stay here as my guests rather than my prisoners, only as guests who cannot yet leave.” Another quick period of silence, and then it appeared, the hobbit, as if it had always been there.

                Truly, it was very… pretty, I supposed, if in a sort of homely way. It had honey colored hair, curled but travel-dirty, and a fair, soft-featured face with delicately pointed ears that were reminiscent of those of my own people. Its clothes were once fine, surely, but now were torn and tattered and just as filthy as the dwarves’ things. My king’s fingers slid down to its jaw and lifted its face to look at him, then smiled again, sweet as I’d ever seen him.

                “My king, surely-,” I tried, but he only hushed me again, gaze fixed on the little creature before him.

                “Come, little one. Let us set your dwarves free, and then you and I shall go to my throne room and speak, yes? I think we have much to discuss.” Oh, but that was certainly the truth. I swallowed, unsure of how the day had come to this, unsure of what any of this would mean for the coming months and years. Yet there was little I could do, in any case; I was but a guard, and Thranduil my king. If this was to be his One, I could do nothing but support it and bow as I always had before.   

* * *

 

                I walked behind them slowly, a little cautiously; I had no idea what they would do, what the upcoming reactions would be, and so I was admittedly wary, especially given that I knew at least part of the plan involved letting the dwarves out of their cages with so little defense. I didn’t dare argue, however; I’d seen the expressions on the faces of some of my friends after being reprimanded by Thranduil. I wasn’t eager to experience whatever they had, after that.

                We came to Thorin’s cell first, of course, and at the sight of us with the hobbit had him crashing madly against the cell door, rage and desperation and sadness painting his face. I hadn’t thought he would ever look like that over anything; he seemed to care for the dwarves who followed him, of course, but he hadn’t looked that way for them. He’d been angry, of course, and vengeful, and he’d have killed every last one of us for them if he had half a chance, but this… seemed different, somehow.

                In a way, I expected it was because he trusted his motley band of dwarves to protect themselves. This hobbit, however… I wondered if it could even hold a blade aloft, which, again, set me to questioning why it was even with them.

                “Bilbo,” Thorin said, grip white knuckled on the bars, “Bilbo, I am sorry. I did not… I had thought that you could hide from them, and so I let them follow you. I have no right to ask your forgiveness again, but I do ask it this last time if this… if what I have done worsens your fate. If you begin regret following me.” The little hobbit smiled, patting the massive hand around the bars and shaking his head.

                “You’ve no need to ask forgiveness, Thorin. I agreed to have a discussion with Lord Thranduil in exchange for you and the other dwarves being moved to more comfortable quarters until we can get this whole mess straightened out. I’m sure you won’t be treated as guests, but it’ll be better than the dungeons if nothing else.” Confusion flooded Oakenshield’s gaze; I hadn’t really thought that that was possible either. I wondered, if I thought so little of him, what could he and his dwarves have been thinking of me? I assumed that I served no other purpose than to kill them under Thranduil’s order. In a way, I supposed that was at least partially true. In another way, I realized all of a sudden that perhaps it would be better if elves and dwarves actually spoke, at least a bit.

                Thranduil settled an easy hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, softly sliding him away from the door to the cell, from Oakenshield’s grasping hands, in a way that most would’ve seen as meaningless. I, though, I knew well enough what his gesture had meant, why he’d done it, what he was feeling. I’d felt the same things for my own One, my wife, many years before, just as she had felt them for me. The hobbit obviously thought nothing of it, but Oakenshield… his eyes flashed with rage again, where it had settled for a moment.

                “What did you agree to do, Bilbo? What did he say to you?” His voice was quick and low, as if we couldn’t hear him, and Thranduil arched his brow, amusement in every line of his body, every facet of his face. The hobbit’s brows furrowed and his lips pursed, worry in his eyes as he seemed to think that he’d somehow managed to agree to anything more than he thought.

                “Only to talk, Thorin, just as I said. What have I done? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he murmured, almost as if he were trying to soothe the dwarf, and said dwarf only took a deep breath, shaking his head.

                “Nothing, Bilbo. Only that you must be careful with what is said when dealing with elves, especially one such as Thranduil.” I almost felt offended at that, though I realized quickly that he was right to say so, honestly. After all, there was more going on, more than what the hobbit knew, and I didn’t expect that Thranduil would be eager to reveal all right away. He never had been willing to do so with anything else, after all, and this… this was more important than nearly anything, and blessed for it being the second time he felt thusly.

                It would be gladdening to see his sadness lessen, at least; since the death of Legolas’ mother, he had not been the same. His loneliness was palpable, and always worse in winter when old injuries I’d never seen caused him the greatest pain. I would be gladder still to see him with a reason to smile again, and I expected that his son would be even gladder than I. I wondered if the boy truly remembered the time when his father had been truly happy; it had, after all, been a very long time before.

                “He’s been only kind to me,” the hobbit said, “And I don’t mind agreeing to speak with him. Come along, now, let’s get you out of that cell. He and the rest can have a quick bath, can’t they? And have someone check their injuries? We’ve been traveling for some time and I fear their wounds becoming infected with all the filth and the lack of care.” A little amusement flickered on Oakenshield’s face under the worry; the hobbit seemed fussy in a way that he was very likely deeply familiar with. Thranduil opened the door with the key he kept in an inner pocket of his outer robe, and allowed the dwarven king to warily exit the confining space.

                The hobbit looked like he wanted to fuss over him, but my king kept his gentle, leading hand on the smaller being’s shoulder and led him away, towards the other cells and the other dwarves. We faced nearly the same reaction with every cell; first, sudden terror at the sight of Bilbo (who must have been sneaking around the dungeons since the dwarves had been placed here, looking for a way to escape) and anger at Thranduil’s hand on him, followed by deeper, more personal fear and the assumption that they were to be executed.

                I almost found it funny, how easy it was to understand those dwarves. How they’d even managed to live long enough to reach here I’d never know. Such an expedition should have, by all logic, failed the very moment it set out. Of course, one glance at those dwarves should have told me that they had no ties to such things as logic; that they brought a hobbit with them, of all things, likely should’ve told me that much. I shook my head, hoping against hope that I would be able to understand whatever explanation for his presence the hobbit gave.

                Still, once the hobbit and Oakenshield explained what was actually happening, it was a simple matter to bring the dwarves to a small bathing room and leave them to their business with a few healers and a collection of guards who would bring them to the rarely-used guest quarters in the palace. Less simple was getting Bilbo away from them, though I’m sure Thranduil didn’t know that, given that he left with the hobbit the moment the dwarves were sorted, leaving me and the other guards to keep them there instead of allowing them to chase after the two. I still received a harsh look from my king when I caught up to them, and had it not faintly horrified me at the time, I might’ve laughed a little.

                When we reached the throne room, I made certain that the door was closed and barred, then settled myself in front of it, attempting valiantly to fade into the wood grain of the door. The hobbit still stared at me with wide eyes, curiosity as to who I was mixing seamlessly with the faintest traces of fear at the sight of my bow, ever-ready to be drawn. Thranduil didn’t even bother to sit upon his throne before he started asking his questions.

                “Why have you left your Shire, Bilbo? I don’t expect this journey has been especially comfortable, especially after life lived in such an idyllic world.” The hobbit actually laughed, and easily settled on the soft cushions Thranduil found for him to use as a seat until better arrangements could be made. He didn’t even look upset when Thranduil himself found his place upon his throne again at last.

                “I suppose at the start I did it because I wanted an adventure, like the ones my mother once had. She left the Shire often, though she only ever made it as far as Rivendell. I was glad to travel as she did, and even though I was wary of it at first, the dwarves gave me the opportunity to do that, even if the majority weren’t particularly welcoming. I quickly decided that I wasn’t meant for adventures, though; I thought to return to the Shire, to my home, but we fell into the goblin tunnels and that became quite impossible. After that… I realized that they don’t know home as I do, and vowed that I would do whatever I could to help them reclaim their home.” Erebor. I realized it fully very suddenly, though I’d somewhat suspected it for some time.

                After all, this company was led by Thorin Oakenshield, rightful king under that particular mountain, and word had spread far that the time was coming for the mountain to be reclaimed. Thranduil didn’t look shocked, which didn’t surprise me at all.

                “They go to reclaim their lost mountain, then,” he said, and the hobbit nodded, slow and wary. “But why bring you? I do not mean to insult you, especially considering the fact that you managed to break into my dungeons and elude capture or even notice for many days, but the majority of hobbits are known as warriors, to put it lightly. What use did they expect you to have for them?” The little creature flushed red as roses, squirming on the cushions and staring down at his hands, at his twiddling fingers.

                “Er, well, that was… that was an old friend of mine’s doing. He told them that I would be a fine burglar to break into the mountain once we reached it. Light on my feet and all that.” I couldn’t remember the last time I heard Thranduil really laugh, laugh with pleasure instead of mocking and bitterness.

                “A burglar, you say? And what sort of friend would this be who sends you on such a quest?” The little creature’s lips turned into thin, fond smile, memories alighting across his eyes.

                “I’m sure you’ve met him. Gandalf the Grey; I only ever knew him as a maker of fireworks, before all this mess.”

                Even I recognized the name, though I’d never met the Wizard it was attached to. Thranduil, on the other hand, certainly had. He heaved a heavy sigh, fingers light against his temple, and shook his head.

                “I should’ve guessed he’d be involved in all this. You go to Erebor, do you not? The Lonely Mountain where the dragon Smaug sleeps? I do not think that I can allow such a quest to go on, you know. The harm it could bring is great and the benefit little.” The hobbit didn’t respond, still staring down at his hands.

                I wondered why he seemed so upset by that; surely he did not _want_ to face a dragon. How could he, being so very small? Of course he would know that he had no chance against such a creature, unless he was more a fool than he seemed.

                “We do, lord Thranduil, and we must. I’m afraid that, one way or another, those dwarves will reach Erebor, your consent or not.” I feared an explosion, but it didn’t come. Fondness painted my king’s face, unfamiliar and strange and honestly a little frightening. The hobbit very likely had too much power over him too suddenly and seemed to not even notice. He fidgeted a little more, cheeks still apple red.

                “You _are_ interesting, Bilbo, more so than I first thought. Come, come, sit a bit closer. Perhaps you will be able to convince me to let them go yet, though first I’ve more questions, and next I think you could stand for a bit of tending yourself.” The hobbit looked ludicrously grateful, and I wondered what Thranduil was even thinking. Surely he could not free the dwarves to finish their quest? Yet I didn’t believe he would lie to his One either; only the most callous of elves could even consider it, and though he would like it to be thought, he is far from callous.

                I shook my head; this was going to be far more trouble than I’d first imagined, I could see as much already. And still I had no idea of what Thranduil was planning, as if I ever did. At that moment, and for the first time, I wanted nothing more than to scream at my lord until he saw sense and spoke of his plotting to me, to anyone who could help. I imagined that would end poorly for me, however, and so I only sighed a little to myself. I would stand by him to the bitter end, even still.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably switch to the usual POVs, likely starting with Bilbo. The guard will very likely still be making appearances, though, mostly because I've kind of started to like him myself.

                After a few more questions, these more about the events that had taken place before the dwarves and their hobbit reached Mirkwood (and if the hobbit was being honest with his answers, I truly did wonder how they were still living and not really any worse for wear) Thranduil had me escort the hobbit to his own baths while he called for a healer to follow us.

                To be honest, it actually surprised me a little that he allowed me to go with him alone; I’d thought he’d end up keeping the little thing as near as possible for a while, at least until he told the hobbit exactly what was happening. He himself still seemed faintly frightened of me, though; I assumed his dwarves had told plenty of horror stories, or perhaps I was just particularly threatening with no intention of being so. I chuckled to myself, shaking my head as we entered the private bathing area, the bath itself already drawn and steaming at Thranduil’s order.

                “Wait for the healer; he’ll want to check you over first,” I said, going to stand by the door, and he blinked up at me. I realized it was the first time he’d heard me speak and wondered if he thought I’d been unable. He nodded, in any case, shifting from foot to foot and fingering something in his pocket before he looked at me again.

                “I’m confused,” he said at last, and I tilted my head.

                “Why? It’s a bit difficult to examine someone’s injuries when that someone is submerged in water.” He laughed quietly; it was a sweet sound, honeyed and warm, and it was simple to tell that it was often used. I was a little shocked by the noise even still; laughter had been getting harder to come by here, since this place became Mirkwood instead of Greenwood.

                “That much I understand, but what’s a bit confusing is why I’m being treated so well. After all, I broke into the dungeons, did I not? I was going to set your prisoners free.” I laughed myself, then, not entirely sure what to say. Chances were Thranduil had avoided telling him for a reason, and I certainly wasn’t about to reveal his secret before he wanted it revealed. Still, I could see an odd sort of determination in the little hobbit’s eyes, and I imagined he wouldn’t settle until I told him _something_.

                “You broke into the dungeons, yes, and you might’ve been planning to set them free, but you didn’t and I don’t see how you could have. We have no real reason to take fault with you.” He smiled again, eyes sparkling and looking for all the world like some mischievous spirit from the old tales.

                “I found some sort of transport area with barrels big enough for us to ride, and there was a guard there that always slept. I was going down there to get the cell key when you caught me. I’ve been there since you caught them; I know what halls are empty when. It wouldn’t have been hard to get the Company there and out.” Clever indeed; the more I heard from him, the more I understood as much, understood the value he likely had to the dwarves he travelled with. The way they’d been acting with him suddenly became far more understandable; of course they’d be gentle with him, no matter their natures, when he held so much worth to their quest. I was about to comment when an alarm sounded throughout the palace, and the pattern of it made me stiffen.

                “Be glad your plan failed, hobbit. There are orcs outside, and I imagine they’re after your ‘Company.’” A little fear sparked on his face, but I expect he knew well enough that neither he nor his dwarves would be given to them, at least not at that precise moment; that he knew that Thranduil didn’t break a promise when he made it was probably a good sign, or at least an indication that he didn’t believe everything the dwarves told him.

                “You aren’t going to fight?” he asked a few moments later, and I shook my head.

                “My king asked me to look after you.” He grinned.

                “What could I do?”

                “Apparently veil yourself from sight, if what I saw in the dungeons was any indication. Lord Thranduil would rather you not escape, I think.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but the healer, someone with a particularly stern face I didn’t recognize, arrived on quiet feet and set immediately to removing the hobbit’s tattered excuses for clothing and checking over his various injuries.

                They weren’t as bad as I might’ve expected; it was mostly bruises, though some were particularly spectacular and done in shades of black and lurid purple. He didn’t seem to have any broken bones, though, which was a blessing given how difficult they were to heal, and most of his cuts were superficial, if dirty and having a decent chance of infection. He was quiet as the healer worked, and didn’t move beyond flinching a few times when various salves were applied to his bruises to speed their healing and, perhaps, numb the pain they caused in the meantime.

                I could faintly hear the soft clattering outside that indicated guards rushing out to face the orcs, along with far louder, unfamiliar voices that I knew well enough signified the dwarves. Bilbo’s lips twitched in a smile as they burst in, no weapons between them but for raised fists. They seemed to deflate when they saw that the hobbit was not, in fact, being injured but was instead being tended to as they had been. Oakenshield’s eyes remained steely and firm, however, a certain darkness behind them that I expected was rarely absent.

                “Bilbo,” a few of them breathed, as though they’d thought him surely lost despite having seen him not even an hour before, and the young brothers stepped forward, probably to grab the little thing, only to be stopped by their leader’s arm.

                “Let him be tended. Obviously our gracious ‘host’ wants him healthy, and in that at least we shouldn’t argue.” More level-headed than I would’ve expected, but then again he hadn’t been particularly violent at all in the few times I’d seen him, or at least not any more so than anyone in his situation would be. The hobbit offered them all a smile as the last of the salves were worked into his skin and he was allowed at last to settle into the bath.

                “The guard there told me that there were orcs outside, probably looking for us. I suppose being stuck here has at least a few advantages. You all are looking well, by the way; obviously the bath and the healers have done you all wonders.” Most of them grinned at that, edging nearer like they feared some sort of reprisal, but I had no desire to fight them so long as they felt the same of me. The hobbit was their friend, after all, and their brother-in-arms, however unorthodox; I wouldn’t begrudge them a little time to speak with him.

                “They have good medicines,” Oakenshield said, at last settling at the rim of the bath. The other twelve dwarves followed suit immediately, as if they’d only been waiting for him to assure it was alright. “The injuries Azog and his Warg gave me hardly even hurt anymore, and the open wounds are almost entirely closed.” Bilbo nodded, obviously pleased, and took the small bar of honey soap that had been left for him by whoever Thranduil had ordered to fill the tub. He seemed to take great pleasure in scrubbing the thick, caked layers of dirt from the soles of his feet, all the while keeping up soft, pleasant conversation with his dwarven allies. Honestly I hadn’t ever thought dwarves would get along so well with the soft, simple creatures, but obviously hobbits were more adaptable than given credit for, or perhaps dwarves simply fonder than expected of the easy life they represented.

                A new clatter eventually told me of the return of the guards, and the easy chatter between them told me that it was likely that none of them had died and injuries were light. Chances were the orcs had been few in number and eager to flee once they realized their targets weren’t there. By then they probably assumed them dead, whether by us or by the other beasts that now lurked in our wood; if nothing else we’d managed to make their journey far simpler for them, if ever they managed to continue it.

                I didn’t pay the dwarves and the hobbit much attention at that point, honestly; they were content enough murmuring amongst themselves, and I didn’t expect they’d make their great escape with the hobbit as unclothed and comfortable as he was. Besides, I knew Thranduil would be well on his way; probably he’d have arrived sooner if not for the orc attack. As it stood, he stepped inside quietly, a small set of clothes he’d dug up from somewhere draped over his arm. The dwarves watched him warily as he neared, and I half-expected my lord to be annoyed at their presence, but instead he only nodded at them, as if he expected them to be there and took no real issue with it. Perhaps he was just too focused on the hobbit to pay much attention, I thought, almost shocking myself into a chuckle I knew would be much unappreciated.

                “Here; these may be a bit large, but they’re better than what you came with. I’ll have what I can repaired and dispose of the rest, if you like,” he said, voice quiet and hand settling lightly in the hobbit’s damp curls. The dwarves watched, eyes wide, as Bilbo’s lips tilted up into a faint smile and he nodded.

                “Thank you; just let me get a few things from the pockets,” he said, stretching over and sliding only one small thing from the pocket of his waistcoat, tucking it immediately away before I had the chance to see what it was. I don’t think even Thranduil did; his brow arched faintly, but he didn’t question it, perhaps due to the presence of the dwarves.

                “I’d like to eat with you tonight if you don’t mind it, Bilbo,” he said. I thought the dwarves would explode at that, until Bilbo nodded and they seemed to settle, apparently trusting the hobbit’s judgment over their own instincts to distrust Thranduil. It was odd, seeing them act so, but Thranduil seemed pleased if nothing else, and that was likely for the best. “Thank you. I shall have my guard bring you to your rooms and fetch you from there myself when dinner is prepared. I’m sure you’re quite hungry; ah, and for you dwarves, I’ll have the meal brought to your rooms. I’d prefer not have you cause a mess or a spectacle in my dining hall.” With that, and one last stroke of the hobbit’s hair, he was gone, the hobbit’s old clothes in hand. I could almost hear the dwarves grinding their teeth.

                “Bastard,” at least one of them mumbled, and the hobbit’s lips were still quirked up in a faint smile as he leaned nearer to them.

                “He seems to like me,” he said, voice soft, “And he seems willing to listen when I explain things. Perhaps he’ll let us go still.” Oakenshield frowned, brows furrowing, and looked almost as if he wanted to protest, though he seemed quickly to realize something.

                “Durin’s Day is fast approaching,” he murmured, and Bilbo nodded.

                “I know; I’ll do what I can, and you all can help by doing what you’re asked to do, at least for now. If you’re well-behaved and polite, and if I can convince him to let us go, I think we can still make it.” The lot of them stiffened, a little, Oakenshield most of all, but at last, he nodded, reaching out and squeezing the hobbit’s shoulder lightly with hands easily large enough to break it.

                “Be careful dealing with him, Bilbo. If you have something he desires that you do not wish to give, don’t give it for us. He is clever, and good at manipulating situations for himself. I do not wish to see you hurt again for us; I’m sure any of us would say that.” The Company behind him nodded, almost completely in sync, and Bilbo smiled, wide and kind.

                “I think I’ll be alright, Thorin. You don’t have to worry so much, you know; I can look after myself.” Oakenshield actually laughed, pulling away and rocking to his feet. Again, the other dwarves followed his lead, if not before settling their own quick, reassuring touches to the hobbit’s arms and shoulders.

                “So you’ve proven. Still, no matter the skills you’ve been developing with your letter opener, I do not think it would be enough to let you win in a fight against Thranduil. Look after yourself, for our peace of mind if not your own.” Bilbo chuckled and nodded his agreement, not begrudgingly but certainly not entirely seeing the purpose of it.

                “I will,” he said, and the verbal agreement seemed to be just the thing to make them finish settling and be on their well with one last glare to me. I assumed that this one meant I’d best keep an eye on him as well, else they’d take it out on my hide. As if it mattered; were something to happen to the little thing under my watch, I expected there wouldn’t be enough left of me after my king was through for them to have anything to injure. I was still grateful when they left, however; no matter how unnecessary it was, having so many dwarves glaring at me so bitterly was somewhat unnerving, especially given that I could probably only kill half before at least one of them reached me, and less if they managed to find weapons and shields first.

                We stayed in silence for a few minutes longer, the hobbit finishing his bath as quickly as he was able, before he scrambled from the tub, dried himself as best as he was able with the small towel also left, and then dressed himself in what Thranduil had left for him.

                The new clothes were a bit too large for him, obviously, but he seemed to find them comfortable enough, I assume because the fabric was clean and far softer than what he had had before. I led him to the guest room near Thranduil’s quarters, where I assumed my king wanted him, and stood by the door as he scrambled onto the too-large bed. He smiled over at me when he managed it, face a little flushed, and I crossed my arms.

                “You are well, then? Do you need anything else?” He shook his head, looking a little confused at the fact that I’d asked, and I nodded. “I suppose I’ll see you later, then,” I said, not entirely sure why given that I’d just met him and had no reason to be friendly beyond the fact that he was my lord’s intended. He was very easy to like, though, no matter the trouble I could foresee him causing here. I shook my head; it was best not to look into it too deeply, I decided, else I’d likely end up as helpless as the dwarves.   


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo’s POV

                It really was a very nice room I’d been given, not that I knew why I’d been given it. I was, after all, just as much of an intruder as the dwarves, if not one they had the same cultural issues with, and if anything I had been causing far more trouble than they in my wandering through the dungeon. Thranduil had absolutely no reason to be being so kind to me, and yet… here I was, in a room even nicer than mine at Bag End, clean and clothed and cared for, waiting only for dinner. It made no sense and the elven guard that had been with me certainly hadn’t done much to explain.

                Perhaps Thranduil would at least tell me something over the meal, so I would know at least if this was only being done to lull me into some false sense of security in his halls so he could more easily imprison us all again later. I shook my head to clear the silly idea, honestly certain that I’d been spending far too much time sitting around and listening to the dwarves, because he wouldn’t have let the dwarves up here to being with if that were the case, and I didn’t expect he thought he’d have much trouble tossing me in a cell anyway, should he want to do so.

                No, he was having me treated so well for another reason, but what that reason was I didn’t know. Thorin seemed quite worried about it, though, given the way he’d gone on and on about me being careful. Again, however, I knew the tensions between the two kings, and his worry could just as easily have been related to that old distrust rather than anything new he’d noticed. It really was a troublesome situation, and I’d been out of my depth far too many times on this adventure already. If nothing else I swore to myself that I’d figure out what was going on in Thranduil’s head tonight, despite being certain that that would be far from a simple task.

                He was, after all, the king of the elves of Mirkwood, known even in the Shire by his reputation of coldness. He seemed to like me, yes, although again I had no idea of the reason why, and that would certainly help some, but still I knew it would be a struggle to get him to tell me anything he didn’t want to say. I _had_ had some exceptionally good practice with my dwarves, though; perhaps I was wrong and Thranduil’s stubbornness would be simple to crack in comparison. I sighed. Yes, and tomorrow Thorin sign a peace treaty with him, possibly after marrying an elf girl and sending Smaug a kindly worded letter informing him that Erebor was his. Really I should’ve learned by that point that no part of this journey of mine would be simple, at least not for me.

                I got off the bed slowly, the thing a bit too soft and certainly too tall for me to be able to do so comfortably and with any haste. Still, it was quite comfortable, and the elves surely weren’t to blame for not having a bed more suited to my height. I paced around the room, then, too many thoughts buzzing in my head to sleep and too much nervous energy coursing through me to even sleep. When Thranduil finally came, opening the door after a quiet knock and an assurance that he could enter, I almost ran to him I was so eager to go and do _something_ , even if only eat.

                “Hello,” I greeted, and he blinked, hand light on my arm.

                “Bilbo. Your room is comfortable, is it not? I’d have thought you’d take the opportunity to rest.” Funny, how he actually sounded a little worried, as if my health should’ve mattered to him. Perhaps he was a better king than Thorin thought if he was so easily able to show care for people under his watch. I smiled up at him and he raised an eyebrow, actually looking a little shocked at me. He really was handsome, more so even than Elrond, really, and there was a strange sort of strength to him that I couldn’t quite place. He did look far better when he smiled, though, like he was then, when he saw my own grin.

                He wasn’t delicate, I could see that at a glance; his grip was too powerful and I knew that if I saw his arm it would be all elegant muscle. Chances were that if I saw him swing a blade he’d do it in the same way as Thorin, as if it were an extension of his arm, as if he’d been born holding it. There was more than physical strength to him, though; perhaps that was why it seemed so strange. How _had_ he known so clearly that I was there in that dungeon anyway? He couldn’t have seen me, yet still he acted as if he had.

                “It’s quite fine, I assure you. I’m only… honestly it seems that I’ve been running for so long, whether from trolls or orcs or goblins, that I can’t seem to find rest now.” He nodded thoughtfully, hand drifting to my shoulder and settling there lightly, gently, the touch oddly comforting despite everything. I almost wanted to thank him, though for what reason I didn’t know.

                “I’ve seen as much before with my own guards. I’m sure you’ve noticed the… troubles we’ve been having here.”

                “The spiders?” I asked, and he honestly laughed.

                “The spiders, yes, but not only them. To be honest, were I to let my son fight them with those he calls friend as often as he’d like, we’d be rid of them in a week, perhaps less. It is more what they represent that worries me; they are dark things, things that have no place in my wood, and they encroach here without care, as if the threat we pose is nothing. I fear that there are worse things afoot, and that they are but a symptom of the illness that is here.” I swallowed; there was a distance to his face, and though he was looking down at me, it felt more as though he were looking through me.

                “This place was the Greenwood once, wasn’t it? That’s what it’s called on all my maps back home.” He nodded, and the distance in his eyes grew greater.

                “Greenwood, or Eryn Lasgalen in my own tongue. It was, yes, years ago; I hope to make it so again one day, but this illness… I do not understand it fully, I can admit that. My wisest study it day after day and still can tell me nothing. The spiders, and the other unwelcome creatures that try to take my wood, are more recent troubles, and daunting for that as they mean the situation is worsening. I fear for the state of my wood, and yet… there seems a sort of hope, now,” he said, lips curling into a faint smile as he glanced down at me. I blinked, and his mouth only twitched as though he were fighting a greater smile, or even a good chuckle.

                He led me into a large dining hall, decorated extravagantly in golds and greens, and had me settle into a chair at his left side while a younger looking elf sat at his right. He was nearly as tall as Thranduil with the same pale hair and the same narrow nose; it must’ve been the son he’d mentioned, I decided, and was only proven right when he directed my attention to the younger elf.

                “Bilbo, this is Legolas, my son. Legolas, Bilbo Baggins.” Legolas tilted his head at me, leaning across his father as if to get a closer look, and knocked his father’s hand off me lightly so he could push my hair back and prod at my ears.

                “A hobbit?” he asked, more to Thranduil than to me, and the elf lord, again, looked to be desperately struggling against laughter as he nodded. I think that shocked Legolas far more than the revelation as to what, exactly, I was, because he turned to face his father and seemed to gape a little. “You’re in… a good mood,” he said at last, and Thranduil’s smile softened.

                The love in his eyes was obvious. Actually it reminded me a bit of some of the overprotective, perhaps a bit too hardworking mothers and fathers in the Shire. A bit of Dori too, actually, from when I caught sight of him looking at his brothers. The familiarity of it made me relax, made me put my own hand on Thranduil’s forearm, and though he jerked, though Legolas stared at me like he’d never seen someone with such gall, he didn’t have me move it. I think that prompted the younger elf to turn his incredulous stare to his father again.

                “I am. Has that truly become so rare?” Legolas laughed, then, breathless and sad and a little manic, as if it was either that or start crying, but there was joy there too, mixed in evenly, as he took his father’s hand and my own.

                “So many years,” he said, and I took my own turn at confusion. Thranduil, while not as friendly as some I’d met, hadn’t seemed much more than amiable in all the time I’d known him. Had he actually been so different? Yet why would he become suddenly happy now? I wished desperately that someone would explain and assumed no one would. Again, that would simply be far too easy. “I’m glad to see it even still, father. Shall I spread the joyful news to all the ladies and all the guards, so the gossip will be sure to spread?” Thranduil did laugh, then, as plate upon plate of good smelling food was delivered to the table where we sat.

                “Only if you’ve a particular desire to find yourself cleaning the kitchens again, dearest son of mine.” The lightheartedness of the comment seemed to send Legolas reeling with more shock as he laughed again, shaking his head.

                “Then I shall stay silent, father dear.” He reminded me far too much of Fili and Kili, then; perhaps they were about the same age mentally, even if not in actual years. I wondered if Thranduil had ever had to deal with the same pranking phase that Thorin had with the boys and found myself hoping, probably irrationally, that he had simply because those were stories I’d love to hear. Why I thought that Thranduil would ever tell me stories I don’t know; I was little more than a guest, and one that had broken into his dungeons at that. I didn’t expect I’d be getting such a privilege any time soon. The sudden sadness that made me feel made little sense, at least not to me, and yet I felt it all the same.

                “Wise of you,” he said, brow raised as he turned to face me again, watching as I piled my plate high. I know I flushed under the scrutiny.

                “I, well, I’m sorry for taking so much. I can put some back if you’d like?” He looked bemused, for a moment, before he shook his head, settling his hand atop mine on his forearm, and I realized suddenly that I hadn’t ever moved it.

                “Take all you like, Bilbo. I’m sure you’re in need of a good meal, by now.” Myself being a hobbit, I’d never had any idea quite how true such a statement could ever be, and I was unspeakably grateful for it as I grabbed myself a little more and tucked in rapidly, very unhobbity but too hungry to really care. It tasted like heaven on my tongue and I was certain the dwarves would be just as pleased as I was, when they got their dinner; we’d been too long without such comforts, and no matter their source, I was sure they’d partake.

                “Thank you,” I managed between bites, and so engrossed was I in the meal that, to tell the truth, I forgot that I’d planned to have a serious discussion with Thranduil at all. Of course, it was probably better, honestly, given how public the venue was, and we did speak much in that time, though it was of simple things like my home in the Shire and recent, silly events in his palace like a small group of tired, possibly slightly drunk off-duty guards managing to trap themselves in a storage closet overnight only to be faced the next morning with Thranduil himself, who’d come there to fetch a broom. Apparently they’d been completely unable to look at him since, and some of the senior guards still shook their heads at them in amusement whenever they passed. All in all, it was a pleasant night, if not an informative one, even if I did manage to get at least a little out of Thranduil when he escorted me back to my room after dinner.

                “Did you have a pleasant evening, Bilbo?” he asked me, and I, of course, nodded. It had been a pleasant day, really, at least after a few… hiccups, and I felt better then than I had in months.

                “I most certainly did! Still,  Lord Thranduil, I’m a bit curious as to why you’re doing all this for me. Am I not an intruder as well?” He looked almost pained, for a moment, as if he’d been expecting the question and still didn’t quite have an answer, but he hid the look so quickly that I couldn’t have been certain I’d even seen it at all.

                “That is a difficult thing to explain, and not entirely proper to mention in the middle of a hallway. Still, I expect I do owe you an explanation if nothing else, and we still must discuss what will be done about your dwarves’ little quest. Tomorrow morning, Bilbo, after breakfast; we’ll go to my throne room and discuss it all then, alright?” That, at least, was better than what I’d had before, and I certainly couldn’t complain, so I agreed readily, and with that (along with a rather impulsive hug I don’t know why I gave and that I’m surprised I wasn’t immediately jailed for) he left and I fell into bed and the deepest, best sleep I’d had since leaving the Shire.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'll be going out of town this Thursday and won't be back until Monday, so forgive me if I don't reply to anything until then, since I won't be able to check my email or anything over that period.

                The guard from before came to awaken me the next morning instead of Thranduil himself, his expression more bland than before and his hair and armor both in a bit of a state. I wondered, a bit, what he’d been doing that had made him look so frazzled, but I didn’t think he’d much appreciate my asking. Still, he did smile a little at the sight of me, so I supposed at least he wasn’t in too terrible a mood.

                “You’re wondering why I look so unkempt this morning,” he said, and I jerked. He laughed quietly, hand patting my shoulder lightly as I scrambled from the bed.

                “A bit, yes.”

                “We were sent to fight last night, perhaps an hour or two after Lord Thranduil escorted you here. The orcs, thinking we were giving your dwarves asylum, returned to attack in greater numbers than before in an attempt to, I suppose, either take our palace or convince us to hand you all over. I expect they’ve spent enough years hidden away that they forgot the strength of our warriors.” Familiar pride filled his expression; the dwarves wore the same look whenever they won a battle. Oddly enough, it made me just as happy then as now.

                “It was so simple a battle?” His smile faded at that, one hand sweeping his hair back from his face as he shook his head.

                “Simple for some, but we’ve still a few dead from the initial attack, when they surprised us and gave no time for the alarm to be raised. That is why Lord Thranduil will not be joining you for your morning meal, though I was asked to bring you to his throne room once you finished. He has a few he must inform of the deaths, and fortifications to oversee. We will not let ourselves be taken by surprise again.” He truly was a warrior, obviously; it was strange how many of them I was meeting now when for so many years I’d known of them only in stories.

                “Let’s go quickly, then, so you can rest; you certainly look as though you need it.” His smile flashed back again, eyes softening, as he led me from the room.

                “Quite rude, hobbit; do I really look so terrible?” I nodded sagely, trying to fight back my own grin and surely failing.

                “Oh, yes! I’ve never seen an elf so messy; you ought to be ashamed!” He tried for heartbroken and didn’t manage very well, I assume due to lack of practice.

                “I am, I am; to appear before you this way will surely land me in disgraced exile, unless, of course, you ask Lord Thranduil to grant me mercy.” I had missed being able to laugh so freely; no matter the poor start, this _was_ a pleasant place to be even if we couldn’t stay for long.

                “Then I shall, of course, Master… ah, how rude of me! I haven’t asked your name.” He blinked slowly, as if only just coming to the same realization.

                “Thandaer,” he said, offering a sort of half-bow as we moved towards the same dining hall we’d used the night before.

                “Nice to officially make your acquaintance then, Master Thandaer,” I replied, and he only chuckled softly.

                “You may call me Thandaer only, Bilbo. I am as good as your guard now, after all.” An odd thing to say, but I supposed it made a sort of sense, given that, beyond Thranduil, he’d been the one to look after me since I’d been found, and given that he’d been with Thranduil even then, he was certainly quite trusted. I agreed, and with that, he led me into the room and to the seat I’d used the night before.

                I found myself enjoying breakfast far less than I had dinner. Not because the food was subpar, obviously, but only because I was being forced to eat alone, something that I hadn’t done since leaving Bag End. Thandaer had wandered off somewhere, and I assumed Legolas was wherever his father was, dealing with the fallout from the attack the night before.

                The silence around me was grating; even a song about blunting my knives would’ve been welcome then, though I’d never admit as much to Fili and Kili. So, I ate as quickly as I was able, barely even bothering to taste it as it passed my lips (and my, but I’d never thought I’d think something like that) and squirmed in my seat until Thandaer, who looked far better than he had that morning, arrived again to spirit me off to Thranduil’s throne room. I wondered if the dwarves were doing well; I hadn’t seen them in some time, after all, and I didn’t expect they were taking well to life here, especially since their deadline for reaching the Lonely Mountain was growing ever nearer and such inaction simply didn’t suit them. Honestly I was a bit surprised they hadn’t overrun the palace yet. Perhaps they were trusting that I’d been telling the truth when I said I’d try to convince Thranduil to let us go and were giving me the opportunity to do so.

                The mere idea of that made me smile, a little; it seemed not even yesterday when they’d been calling me a grocer, but then I couldn’t blame them for not expecting much out of me since I hadn’t expected much out of me either.

                “Thandaer?” I finally asked, unable to contain my worry over them any longer.

                “Yes?”

                “Do you know how the dwarves are doing?” He laughed, then, squeezing my shoulder once and giving me a kind smile.

                “They’re alright. Worried sick over you, from what I’ve heard, and they’ve demanded to see you more than once, but otherwise as well as can be expected for thirteen dwarves in a den of beings they see as enemies.” That much was comforting, at least, and I could easily imagine the sort of trouble they were causing with their complaining. Besides, I appreciated that they’d grown to care for me so much; it felt oddly like being a part of a close family again, which, after my parents’ passing, was quite welcome. I was smiling when I entered the throne room merely because of that thought, and Thranduil returned it when he saw me, though he did appear a bit troubled otherwise.

                “Lord Thranduil,” I greeted, and he nodded distantly.

                “Only Thranduil, please. We will speak as equals now, or not speak at all.” Thandaer looked far less confused by that than I would’ve expected, instead just bowing and leaving us alone. Oh, dear. Obviously whatever it was he wanted to speak with me about, beyond the trouble with the dwarves, was more serious than I’d imagined.

                “You seem bothered,” I said, and his mouth twitched up as he gestured for me to come nearer to him and sit on the soft, comfortable cushions he’d let me use before.

                “I suppose that’s one way to put it. I only fear saying what must be said, as I don’t imagine you’ll understand.” He didn’t seem to be trying to insult me with that, at least, so perhaps that was a good sign. I tried to keep my own expression light, though I don’t know how well I did; he was worrying me, a bit, with the way he was acting.

                “Apparently I’ve been surprising people quite often since leaving the Shire. I might surprise you as well,” I told him, though I was certainly not confident in that. He laughed a little raggedly, eyes a bit unnerving where they were fixed upon me.

                “You already have, Bilbo, from the moment I found you in my dungeons. Tell me, have you heard stories in your Shires of the way elves love?” he asked me, head tilted rather a lot like his son’s had been the night before. I don’t think I’d yet seen him so curious, and I was interested in where he was going no matter the odd nature of his question.

                “No, I can’t say I have.” He sighed; apparently I’d given the less satisfactory answer.

                “I hadn’t expected so; it is not precisely publicized even if it is not precisely a secret either. Generally, an elf loves but once in his or her life; we’ve one name on our hearts and we stay with that one forever, when they are found. Some, however, are blessed with a second name with the death of their first, though that is very rare.” I stared.

                “That’s… interesting information, Thranduil, but I’m afraid I’m not entirely certain what you’re trying to tell me.” He sighed. Oddly, he sounded like Thorin. I almost thought to tell him so, though I expected he’d appreciate me saying as much almost as little as Thorin himself.

                “I loved Legolas’ mother fiercely; upon her death I was devastated. Legolas himself can attest to as much; you saw his reaction to even a smile from me last night. I have not been truly joyful since the day she passed; I had thought that I would remain alone for the rest of my life. Then, however, my scouts found your dwarves and brought them here, and I had them imprisoned out of suspicion over their reason for being in my wood. I began feeling a stirring in my heart again, and realized that I was one of the few with a second name.” I felt like fainting again. I’m quite sure I almost did.

                Oddly, however, I also felt a bit… sad. Thranduil had fallen for one of the dwarves, obviously, and had thought to enlist me to help him, probably wisely as none of them would listen to him no matter what he said about love and ones. I don’t know why that bothered me, though; if he had truly been so sad and so lonely for so long, shouldn’t I be pleased that he’d found another to share his life with? And it would be good for the dwarves as well, given how well it could smooth relations between the two cultures. It did bother me, though, and I suddenly recognized the feeling as _jealousy_. I fell into a sudden coughing fit and watched his smile turn faintly sad.

                “Oh, dear me,” I finally managed, and the smile turned sadder.

                “You’ve realized what I mean, then.” I nodded, swallowing and attempting to loosen the lump in my throat.

                “I believe so. Which of them is it? Perhaps I can be of some help; I know much about all of them.” He looked surprised, for a moment, before he fell into a fit of laughter, shaking his head at me in something like confusion.

                “You haven’t understood me, Bilbo. The dwarves were not the only ones to enter my dungeons when I imprisoned them there, and they were not the ones to awaken my heart again.” I hadn’t thought anything could surprise me as much as the realization of all the exceptionally nasty ways in which a dragon could kill me. I ought to have known better, after all I’d faced on this adventure. I struck the pillows in a dead faint the moment his words filtered into my head.

* * *

 

                I awoke lying on the bed I’d been given, Thranduil settled in a chair beside me and looking far more nervous than I’d ever imagined he’d be able. His hands were clasped upon his lap and his back was straight and stiff, his expression as blank as he could force it.

                “I’m quite sorry about that,” I finally said, and he chuckled. It sounded disconcertingly bitter.

                “I expect I’m the one who should be apologizing, Bilbo.” I grinned, sitting up slowly just in case I was still a bit woozy, and shook my head.

                “Not at all; I’m not upset, only… well, I expect ‘surprised’ would be quite an understatement. If it wouldn’t be too forward to say so, I think I feel something similar for you. I was quite… well, jealous, when I assumed it was one of the dwarves, and I seem to like you far more than I normally would for someone I’ve only just met. I’d like to get to know you more, if you’d like the same.” His face turned softer than I’d ever seen it, then, and his hand slowly wrapped around mine, long, elegant fingers stroking my wrist lightly.

                “I believe I would, Bilbo,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a butterfly light kiss to the corner of my mouth. I expect I beamed up at him more brightly than I ever have before, then, my arms flinging themselves around his shoulders as he wrapped his own about my waist, however awkward the position was for us both. We sat like that in silence, for a bit, until I very suddenly realized something.

                “Oh, dear.”

                “I’m beginning to worry whenever I hear you say that, Bilbo,” he said lightly, brow arched, and I gave a nervous smile.

                “I expect we’re going to have to talk to the dwarves about this, not to mention the matter of the quest.” I can’t help but feel I was one of the first to see such genuine terror alight in the eyes of Thranduil, elven king of Mirkwood.  


	5. Chapter 5

Thorin’s POV

                I had little choice but to admit that our accommodations now were far nicer than they had been, though I knew well enough how little that actually meant; we were, after all, still prisoners just the same.  My kin remained just as restless, in any case, wandering between the rooms we’d been given and trying to pick fight with the frustratingly indifferent elves who guarded us. Much of it, I knew, was that Bilbo had been taken to some undisclosed location for no discernable reason, and the fact that Thranduil himself had been the one to order him taken there.

                They refused to take us to him. My Company were not the only ones bothered by that; I myself was probably the most annoyed. I could admit that I’d treated him poorly at the start, and I could admit that I’d done so without merit just as I could admit that he’d proven me wrong quite aptly. I had accepted him as one of my Company and so I’d accepted responsibility for his fate just as I’d sworn I wouldn’t do. He was as much my kin now as any dwarf who’d ever stood beside me; I refused to forsake him now, and simply waiting this way in comfort while Thranduil wanted him for Mahal-knew-what was as much torture as my time in the dungeon had been.

                Eventually there came the point where sitting there, not knowing, became too much, and so we began to plan, my kin and I. Honestly that none of the elves grew the least bit suspicious when we suddenly stopped fighting was a bit shocking; I’d have thought Thranduil would’ve trained them to be just as suspicious and cold as he. Still, I wouldn’t complain.

                We plotted carefully, if not for very long; they would distract them and I would creep away in search of Bilbo, as I was the only one who had ever been in the palace itself before, even if it had been when I was scarce more than a dwarfling and the relationship between Thranduil and my grandfather was more friendly than anything. I only hoped the vague memories would be enough; I did not have what anyone would call a particularly good sense of direction, as my nephews so loved reminding me.

                In any case, my Company at least played their parts perfectly. They faked a scuffle, rough and angry, and the guards came running just as we’d assumed they would. I slipped away unnoticed, the guards too focused on separating them to pay much mind to me. The halls were too tall and darker than I recalled; it was nothing like being in a mountain, for I had no idea where I was in relation to anything, and everything seemed wide enough and tall enough that I could easily be swallowed up by the empty space.

                I had not done what I had to be stopped by such silly fear, however; I moved quickly, ducking out of the way whenever I heard rare footsteps. Finally, though, finally, I heard Bilbo, along with the guard who’d been with him when last we saw him. The two of them were walking somewhere very purposefully, though Bilbo looked relaxed and was even smiling at the taller figure. Obviously he’d become friendly with him, which, while certainly not unexpected, was a bit of a bother. He always had been too kind, too trusting; surely Thranduil sought to take advantage somehow.

                I trailed after them as carefully as I was able; Bilbo never looked even the slightest bit worried about where he was being taken. Perhaps he knew already, though why he would I didn’t know; he was no more a guest here than we were, no matter what illusions Thranduil had appeared to be trying to make him believe. My thoughts continued in that vein as I followed them through the winding halls, my bearings having long since been lost. How I would get back I didn’t know, of course, but I assumed I’d manage something; I was a king, after all, and if I could not even find my way through Thranduil’s palace I scarcely deserved to call myself such.

                Finally, they opened a large door and I crept in after them, for once grateful for the elves’ senseless need to over-decorate as it gave me a place to hide once the guard left the room. I realized suddenly that I was in Thranduil’s throne room, all alone but for the elf king himself and Bilbo. I went tense right then as the danger of the situation hit me; I could be killed for this and I couldn’t even dispute that Thranduil had no right to do it.

                I grew worried the moment Thranduil asked Bilbo to address him as equal; I’d never heard him speak that way to anyone before, not even in the days when I’d thought him an ally and a friend to myself and my people. To hear him offer something like that now, to a burglar hobbit in a company of dwarves, was… unprecedented, and quite a bit shocking, to say the least. He couldn’t possibly be planning anything good and I feared for Bilbo desperately. When the elf lord began spouting nonsense about love and Ones I realized I’d been a fool myself for not stepping in and fighting the moment my worry reared its head.

                I’d thought that I’d learned to trust those instincts; obviously, I hadn’t. And now… now Thranduil was standing there, speaking to Bilbo of loving him as if he had any right to do so and I wondered what his game could possibly be.

                After all, he wouldn’t be saying this unless he had a reason, unless he thought there was something about Bilbo he could use, and Bilbo didn’t even sound the slightest bit suspicious, as if Thranduil were the most trustworthy being in all Middle Earth. At least, I supposed, he didn’t take it without even surprise; I had never been so glad to see him faint.

                My stomach roiled as Thranduil knelt beside him, hand on his arm and lips a little parted, as if he were truly worried for the hobbit. I wanted to kill him, then; I’d wanted as much before, admittedly, but now the feeling was sharper, more obvious and biting. My fingers twitched for want of a blade as he lifted the hobbit with ease and strode from the room, taking him somewhere else, somewhere we dwarves didn’t know and wouldn’t be told simply because Thranduil wanted something from our burglar.

                The worst part was that I’d suspected this already; I’d even warned Bilbo of it, however vague I’d been. I had not seen Thranduil so gentle with anyone before, so kind (and I would not believe that it wasn’t false) and I’d _suspected_. Why had I said nothing to my kin? I should’ve let them know my suspicions the moment I had them so perhaps we could’ve planned something earlier, something to stop him from taking this action he’d taken. I felt faintly ill for not the first time since I’d begun this quest.

                Bilbo was my responsibility, and more than that, he was one of my dearest friends. I refused to stand aside and let him be fooled by the elf king’s pretty stories, to let Thranduil snatch him away like a bauble to be won for whatever whim he then felt. I gritted my teeth and swept from the throne room, knowing I wouldn’t be able to find them now that I’d waited so long to go after them, and deciding instead to find my way back to the rooms in which Thranduil had us imprisoned. When I returned, I spared only a moment to marvel at the fact that I’d managed to go uncaught, and less to let my kin congratulate me and ask if I’d found our burglar. I had them sit; they obeyed. I expected the look on my face was as near to distraught as it ever was.

                “Uncle?” Fili asked me, rare frown on his face as he settled by his younger brother, who looked so terrified that I almost thought he’d assumed Bilbo dead, or worse. I wondered if I could consider this worse and finally decided that I couldn’t, though it was a close decision.

                “I found him, yes. He was being escorted to Thranduil’s throne room. I followed them and listened in to what was said.”

                “Is he well?” Bofur, ever-kind, one of the first of our Company to have accepted him and called friend, asked, and my mouth tilted further down, into a deeper frown.

                “In a sense; he is unhurt physically, and he is being treated well. The reason for that is… unsettling, however. Thranduil claims to be in love with him.” Silence, shocked and tense and angry. The mere words had their teeth on edge, which I was grateful for as it at least meant that I was right in my own rage, that I would have their support in whatever I chose to do next.

                “He said that?” Balin asked, hand stroking his beard and eyes wide. I nodded once, stiff.

                “He did. Bilbo fainted, and I assume Thranduil carried him back to his room. I could not follow for fear of being caught.” Kili’s jaw was clenched so tightly that I thought he was likely close to chipping teeth, and I had the inane thought that his mother would slay me where I stood if I brought him back toothless. Fili settled a hand on his shoulder and he relaxed some, or at least enough that I didn’t fear he’d hurt himself. Of course, Fili looked not much better off than his brother, hand twitching rhythmically for want of his blade, and the rest of the Company was not far behind either of them.

                “What will we do, Thorin? You know we can’t just sit here in this room and wait. Mahal knows what that elf is doing as we speak,” Dwalin said, voice gruff as ever, and I nodded.

                “Very true, my friend. I don’t plan on waiting myself, and I wouldn’t subject you all to it either. We’ll find them first, and decide from there what is to be done.” There, however, inlay the problem; it had been troublesome enough for only me to leave and return unnoticed, and I could see no way for all of us to manage unless we killed the guards, which I didn’t imagine we’d be able to do even if we wished to. They had weapons where we did not, and I knew well enough that they could raise an alarm and summon their whole army far faster than we could make them fall with our bare hands.

                I know the others knew this too; we sat in our silence for a few moments and thought of what we might be able to do, but none could think of a solution. It was as good as torture, sitting there plotting and planning against our most recent impossibility, yet it was a torture I couldn’t end.

                At least if we were doing this, we were doing something productive instead of only waiting; at least this way, we could still imagine we had a chance even if it was but a lie we told to comfort ourselves.

                So lost were we in our plotting that we all jolted when the door to our rooms opened and Thranduil entered, Bilbo small and soft as ever at his side but the same fierce determination I’d come to see as familiar thick in his eyes. Thranduil’s long-fingered hand was settled on the hobbit’s narrow shoulder, gentle and easy yet no less obvious in its purpose. I stood to my full height, back straight, and though I knew well enough that Thranduil still towered over me, I felt better for the gesture. Behind me, my kin all did the same.

                “We have come to inform you that Bilbo is my love and that he has agreed to try exploring that with me,” Thranduil said, voice flat and near enough to dead, and Bilbo’s lips twitched up slightly, amusement painting his expression. I know the Company shared my assumption that Thranduil had done something, twisted his mind somehow while he was unconscious. As such, I don’t expect we can be fully blamed for what occurred next.

                I don’t know which of us attacked first, honestly, though I suspect it might’ve been Kili, yet young and quicker to take action than to consider consequences. I do know, however, that it was with very little provocation that the rest of us joined in the fray, Bilbo having been dragged out of the way when the first punch was thrown.

                My own fist struck his stomach; I heard a little air slip from his mouth in a low hiss, his surprise serving as well as my own force to throw him off balance. It had been many years since I’d felt so horribly angry; I expected most of the company would’ve said the same. Thranduil had helped to take everything from my people, and now he stood, blank-faced, to try and take our burglar, our friend, from our side. He had no right. His guards were coming, I knew that as I went in for another harsh punch. I heard them raising alarms and didn’t care because I knew that if they would kill me for striking their king, they would do it whether I ceased at their cry for aid or not. Thranduil himself started fighting back then as well, longer arms and legs serving him well as he knocked Fili to one side and started going for Dwalin, who posed a greater threat, instead. Still I found myself not caring, not really, because Bilbo was my friend no matter how long I’d been in realizing it, and I wouldn’t let him be mistreated so by the elf king.

                That was when Bilbo cried out for us to stop, however, his voice loud and firmer than was usual. He didn’t often speak that way; I’d learned after a week of scolding interspersed with the silent treatment that I’d do well to heed him when he did. The remainder of the Company had as well, though, judging by the way they too immediately fell still. Even Thranduil himself went stiff at the demand, arms falling to his sides as he too stopped fighting us. The only sounds were footsteps in the hall as a collection of elves came running to their lord’s aid. Bilbo had a very spectacular frown on his face.

                “Sit,” he demanded, one finger pointing, straight and stiff, to punctuate the command. We all listened, Thranduil included, and the slightest pinch of my anger became confusion. “Good. Now, we are going to talk about this like adults, alright? Not scuffling children. If any of you don’t think you can do that, you ought to leave now as I am simply not going to deal with it.” There might’ve been a time when I’d have laughed at a hobbit giving orders to kings. Now, I didn’t dare; I’d seen what he could do when given provocation, and I preferred him as friend instead of enemy. In any case, none of us moved; I expected that we were in for a long night. Still, I supposed at least that Bilbo was, in fact, still alright, and that was a comfort even if he was upset. I could deal with years of scolding if he was still well; oddly enough, I almost thought I saw the same thought reflected in Thranduil’s cold eyes, no matter how untrue I knew that to be.  


	6. Chapter 6

Thranduil’s POV

                It was an odd thing, that was the best and the only way I could think to describe it. Years had gone by since last I had felt the urge to subject myself to another’s will, to listen to a person simply to make that person happy. To feel it again then, so suddenly no matter my expectation for it, and to know that a group of dwarves, of all things, felt the same way towards the same person, was, as I’d said, odd. Oakenshield’s eyes flashed over towards me once, dark and still angry with me for things I’d done that week and things I’d done so very many years before, as if I would change my choices simply for his pleasure.

                There had been no hope of victory that day, I’d known that, and I had had no desire to lay my own people down as sacrifices for him and his dwarves. Perhaps another king might’ve, and perhaps that other king would have been right; I do not claim to know all and I certainly do not claim perfection. I had done what I thought right, however, and I challenged Oakenshield to claim that he would ever go against his better judgement to aid another when his own people were at risk. As for the other source of his anger… well, that was Bilbo’s decision, not my own, and if the hobbit had chosen to give me the chance to prove myself, I was certainly not enough of a fool to fight him over it. I did not seek to please Oakenshield in the matters of my own heart, whatever claim he thought he had over Bilbo.

                “Good,” the hobbit said at last, nodding once, before he settled cross-legged in front of us. Two of the youngest of Oakenshield’s Company, the brothers his sister had borne, squirmed with faint discomfort as Bilbo gazed at them; though I could see easily enough how they sought to please him. It was stranger still to imagine that a hobbit had carved himself so deep a place in the hearts of dwarves; I’d known enough of them to know that for an outsider to gain their favor was almost unheard of. For a hobbit, a creature of comfort, to manage it… Bilbo truly was a special sort for more reasons than one, and that I’d known from the very moment I found him in my dungeons. Still I would have to discuss with him how he’d managed that invisibility trick; I had my suspicions, of course, but for them to be true would be one of the strangest turns the history of middle earth had taken in centuries. Not that I thought it was impossible, of course; as I’d said, Bilbo was quite remarkable. If he’d managed this one other remarkable thing, I would not question it, though my worry over the state of the future would certainly heighten, for if the object I thought he’d used was truly in his possession, awful things would be sure to follow.

                “Shall I ask your dwarves why they mauled me so, or shall I leave that to you, Bilbo?” I asked, and the little being laughed quietly. It really was a very nice laugh; I thought it would soon add a pleasant ring to my halls, one that had been far too long absent. Legolas had also seemed to like him rather well, and so I imagined they’d get along in the coming years. Perhaps Bilbo would even be able to settle him a bit, as he so obviously had the heirs of Durin.

                “Oh, I know _why_ they did it already,” he said, crossing his arms and offering them a particularly unimpressed look. “I only want to know what in the world happened to their better judgment, thinking it was a good idea to jump at you so.” The brother squirmed a little more notably. I leaned forward a bit to raise my brow at them. Oakenshield growled like my looking at his nephews was the greatest insult he’d ever been dealt. “Perhaps if you promised that they’ll come to no punishment for their moment of… recklessness, they’ll be a bit more willing to speak on the matter.” I know the dwarves were expecting me to refuse, and perhaps to consign them then and there to execution. Once I might have been offended that anyone thought so little of me, but as it stood, I could almost understand it; I had no illusions that they’d ever be truly friendly with me, and in a way, I didn’t wish them to be.

                The dwarves had always been good allies, yes, and I’d liked some of them well enough, but I knew that if I got involved, if I grew to like them personally, I’d be far more tempted to give them my aid, and at that moment, when my own kingdom was in turmoil as well, I knew how much trouble that could cause. It had been painful enough to turn away those years before, to leave even those I’d known with only the hope that they would be able to escape.

                “Certainly; I gave my word that they would not be harmed while under my hospitality, and so they will not be harmed. Guards, as you can see, I am well; you may go, and give no recompense to the dwarves for their actions.” I waved a hand to punctuate my words. The guards bowed, respectful as ever, and left the room. Bilbo offered me another quick flash of a smile, and my chest warmed a bit at the sight of it. I wondered why I had been so lucky to have this second name, to have another chance at companionship, when so few ever did. Still, I would not complain, not when it all could have been so much worse, when I could have been alone for forever after. Blessings were few, or so I’d often been told, and so it was best to cherish them when they appeared, however suddenly they did so.

                “Thank you, Thranduil. Now-,” Bilbo began, twisting a bit to face the dwarves more fully than myself, “why don’t you all tell me _what you were thinking_? This is Thranduil’s palace, where he is most powerful! Why in the world would you be so foolish as to attack him, and for something so trivial, as if I cannot make choices on my own? I’ve been told many times that you all are fools, and not by elves alone; I’d thank you not to prove them right when I have never believed them!” His face had turned a little pink, and his lips were turned down in an obviously rare frown. He looked like he very much wanted to tap his foot, but was unable to do so because of the way he was seated. The squirming intensified even more from the two boys, until at last the blonde one, who I assumed was the elder, elbowed his brother in the ribs. The dark haired boy’s ears turned an unflattering reddish color.

                “I thought… Bilbo, you know we see you as a brother, don’t you? An honorary dwarf if ever there was one. We… when we heard him say that, of course we assumed he’d done something, that he was plotting something like always. We had to help you, even if you didn’t need any help,” he said, and his brother snorted a little.

                “Don’t speak for all of us, idiot. If any of us is getting in trouble, it’s going to be you; you threw the first punch.” The half-haughty look the blonde wore was oddly familiar, though I decided that I would not look too deeply into that for fear that I would recall the exact person on whom I’d seen it before. The dark haired one punched him not lightly, but I knew it was not meant to cause pain nonetheless.

                “You jumped in right after me, Fili.” The blonde shrugged as if that meant nothing, and Bilbo sighed.

                “Do stop arguing with each other, Fili, Kili. Nothing ever ends well when you two are fussing amongst yourselves, and you leave the rest of us miserable as well. Fili laughed.

                “Good to know we haven’t lost you then, Bilbo.” The dwarf who appeared to be the eldest of them sighed, shaking his head and smiling fondly.

                “Indeed. Why don’t you explain this whole mess to us? I expect we’d all be willing far more willing to listen to you.” The hobbit smiled again, then, sweeter and for longer, sparing another quick glance to me before he nodded.

                “Thranduil told the truth when we entered, if a bit more bluntly than I would’ve. He says that I am his… I believe he called it his One. I imagine it’s a bit like soul mates among my kin; you recall me mentioning that, don’t you? How, very rarely, two hobbits will be fated to each other, and seem almost to know as much with their first glance at one another. Apparently it’s far more common among elves, though he informed me that it was strange to have more than one, and I am his second. For myself, I… I feel something when I look at him as well, if not as strongly as he perhaps feels upon looking at me. I would like to get to know him further, and I would be forever grateful if you all would accept that so we might move on to discuss the greater issues at hand.” Their quest, of course; the warmth in my chest at what he’d said, at his continued assurance that he wished to get to know me, that he felt something for me, faded slightly at the mention of the far less joyous topic.

                I knew that if he asked it of me, I would let them go. I knew that I would likely even send aid with them, along with my approval for what they were doing. Still, I could not see it as wise; I knew the damage it could cause and I had a decent idea as to their reason for needing a burglar. I almost couldn’t bare the mere idea of it, especially given the fate of the last to whom I’d given my love in this way. My head raised, a little; I couldn’t let the dwarves see all that I thought. It was enough that they knew I cared for the hobbit, that Bilbo believed that I did care for him. The brothers, Fili and Kili, played at gagging for a second before a sharp look from their uncle sent them into stiff, serious silence. The change was sudden and made even me twitch a bit.

                “I find it difficult to endorse this journey you’ve all undertaken,” I said, knowing that saying so would mean very little in the end.

                “I don’t care what you ‘endorse,’ elf,” Oakenshield growled, icy eyes turning to fix themselves upon my face at last. Rage was written in his every angle, in every twist of his face and ever glint of his eyes. I did not fear him and he did not fear me; I’d almost missed interacting with those not of my kingdom for that very reason, though the anger was quite unwelcome. I’d seen enough of that and expressed enough of that over my centuries that I’d grown honestly tired of it. Bilbo edged over to us, obviously knowing the tension, and settled a hand on both of our knees. His eyes were soft and fond; I know my own eyes reflected something similar when I looked at him, for the dwarves stared at me as though they’d never seen me.

                “Settle, both of you. Thranduil, please trust me when I say I know that it’s risky business, but it will pay off for you as well, not only the dwarves, if you’ll only let us reach our journey’s end. I don’t even ask that you lend us aid, only that you let us go.” His voice was gentle and almost soothing; I wondered if that was for the benefit of myself or Oakenshield and wanted very suddenly to sweep into my arms and hold him for a time. I settled for placing my hand atop his on my knee.

                “I would not send you without aid, Bilbo; to do so would worry me far too much. Even still, I see little benefit in the dwarves reclaiming that mountain. I realize that there was a large hoard there, and I’ll admit that there are treasures within Erebor that even I might desire, but it has all been beneath the belly of a dragon for so long that it’s as good as cursed. The dwarves have lost hoards before; they will find a new wealthy mountain and soon it will be as though Erebor had nothing. After all, even Erebor was but a replacement for the lost Moria.” Oakenshield looked ready to lunge at me again, all of them but Bilbo did, yet still they settled, if unhappily, at Bilbo’s hand and Bilbo’s voice.

                “It isn’t the hoard. Erebor is their home, Thranduil, just as these woods are yours and the Shire is mine. If these woods were taken from you, would you not fight to get them back? They seek home, not gold, and that is why I help them; I couldn’t imagine losing my home, and so I want to help them reclaim theirs.” He looked so earnest, and the dwarves so incredibly sad. I recalled the pain I’d seen on their faces before, when Erebor had first been lost, the years they’d spent wandering aimlessly, working as blacksmiths and toymakers in the towns of men only to get enough gold for bread, until at last the majority found their way to the Blue Mountains. I could understand their pain better than they imagined I could. For the first time since the death of my wife, my heart overrode my mind, and my hand squeezed the hand of another.

                “Alright. I will let you go, and with you I will send a small squadron of my own guard, led by myself. I do this under the condition that you inform me of all that is planned before it is done, and I reserve the right to voice concerns if they arise.” Bilbo’s face lit like the sun. Hope the dwarves obviously didn’t want or expect to feel shone deep in their eyes. Oakenshield held out a hand, and I shook it lightly as he nodded and stood.

                “We go as soon as you are able, then. Durin’s Day grows ever nearer.” With that, I drew myself to my feet, Bilbo following me up, and squeezed the hobbit’s hand one last time. I prayed only that I had not made another mistake, that I would not lose my new love when he’d only just been found. I called then for the best of my guard and had them bring mounts to the front of the palace, along with all we’d stripped from the dwarves upon their capture here and a few bits of armor and weaponry that had a semblance of a chance of fitting them. Before even an hour passed we were away, heading directly for the Lonely Mountain that loomed in the distance.   


	7. Chapter 7

                I gathered my most trusted guards as quickly as I was able, with Thandaer, the one I’d set to guard Bilbo, easily among them. None of them questioned me directly, of course, but only Thandaer himself appeared to be lacking curiosity; they knew how strange this choice was, knew that it was foolish, and knew that I had no logical reason to make it, but I no real desire to tell them the full truth, at least not then. They were willing to fight beside me and for me without knowing, and that was enough for the time being, as they, and, of course, my son would be the first to know all when I chose to tell it.

                They gathered mounts for me, even managing to find some small enough that the dwarves could ride, along with some scrap armor we had from many years before, when the dwarves were still our allies, that would likely fit them well enough. Even a few axes and blades were found for them, deep in our armory, though their archer, the dark haired boy, had to make do with a child’s bow as we had none for adults small enough for him to carry. Still, I think they at least understood that it was the best that could be done at the time and so complained very little and only amongst themselves. I was at least pleased that I did not have to insist on Bilbo being given the most whole looking of the armor, as they decided that much on their own, though the hobbit did protest a bit.

                I smiled faintly, settling my hand upon his shoulder and leading him to my own mount, an elk who had been constant companion to me for many years. Bilbo gazed at him, awestruck, hand reaching out slowly as if to pet the creature, and I chuckled.

                “He is called Arasson,” I said, taking the hobbit’s hand and settling it softly on the animal’s neck. They stared at one another with the same warm, guileless eyes, and Bilbo laughed breathlessly as if this was the oddest thing that had ever happened to him. Of course, I supposed it could have something to do with the fact that the elk was larger than even the greatest of our horses, and his antlers were a bit imposing even to me.

                “You expect him to ride that thing?” someone asked, one of the dwarves, though I did not know his name. He did have rather impressive tattoos over his scalp, however, likely some symbol of his rank and skill only a dwarf could read. “It took us weeks to get him comfortable even on a pony, and they were plentiful even in his Shire. I expect he’s never imagined _seeing_ a beast like that before, much less riding one.” Bilbo flushed a little, stroking the elk’s neck softly and watching carefully as it bent to nuzzle him softly. The dwarf gaped. I shrugged.

                “Arasson is far smarter and far tamer than any pony you’ll ever come across, master dwarf. If I ask that Bilbo be allowed to ride him with me, he will allow it; I doubt he’d even notice the extra weight.” Bilbo’s eyes sparkled, his laughter quiet and sweet as he moved to stroke the animal’s nose instead. My own lips twitched, but I fought to avoid smiling so freely in the face of the dwarf, who finally just shook his head, bemused as anything.

                “If you wish to ride that thing, have at it, Bilbo. Thorin asked me to tell you to yell if you need us, and we’ll be at your side in an instant.” Bilbo nodded, a little distracted, and turned slightly to grin at the dwarf.

                “Of course, Dwalin. You all be safe as well, and please try not to start anything with the other elves. We’ve enough trouble without adding silly squabbles to the mix.” The dwarf laughed, loud and low and booming, and waved the hobbit’s concerns away with ease.

                “I’ll tell the boys you said so, as if it’ll do any good.” A particularly impressive, long-suffering look appeared on Bilbo’s face, but still he nodded, and when the dwarf walked away, he allowed me to hoist him onto Arasson’s back and drag myself on behind him. I could feel his tension even without touching him; he clung to the elk’s neck as if he’d fall if it so much as took a step, which, again, I supposed I could understand, however unfounded the worry really was.

                “Settle, dear Bilbo; no one has ever fallen from Arasson’s back, and I doubt he will let that change with you. He is as steady as I,” I said, and though I wasn’t expecting it, that did actually relax him a bit, at least enough so that I didn’t fear him choking the poor creature. I settled an arm loose about his waist, touching only enough that he could be certain that if he seemed to be falling, I could tighten my grip and catch him easily.

                “Thank you,” he murmured, so very quiet that it sounded like little more than a whisper of the wind, and I hummed quietly in response, setting Arasson off with little more than a soft squeeze about his midsection. My guards and the dwarves, already settled on their own horses, parted for me so that I could lead, though Oakenshield made it a point to urge his own horse forward to ride at my side the moment we left the palace grounds and entered the Mirkwood itself. I didn’t begrudge him that, at least, not really; it was, after all, his suicidal quest, not my own, and I wasn’t precisely eager to claim it.

                “We will go to Laketown from here, Oakenshield. Perhaps we will find more aid there, or at least a place for you all to gather more appropriate supplies. When we are there, perhaps we can discuss what will be done upon our arrival at the mountain.” Oakenshield tensed his jaw, I could see as much even from the high place where I sat, and Bilbo whipped his head around to face me, eyes gone wide again, though more with shock now than anything.

                “Do not presume to tell me how to lead my own quest, Elf king. I have led my Company from the Blue Mountains to here, and would have led them to the mountain alone had you not taken us prisoner.” Perhaps in another situation I might’ve reminded him that when my scouts had found them, they were tangled in spider webs and near enough to death that they’d have had little to no chance of even reaching the farthest borders of Laketown, but as it stood, I wasn’t feeling particularly eager to argue.

                “Apologies. Understand only that my own people are at stake now as well; of course I fear for them, not to mention Bilbo.” Oakenshield didn’t respond with anything more than a grunt, which, perhaps, I should’ve expected. After all, he wanted to protect Bilbo as well; all of the dwarves did, no matter how difficult to comprehend I found that. I saw a tiny smile flicker over the hobbit’s face before he turned to face front again. Then, of course, I felt him tense again. “Bilbo?” I asked, and I imagined that he tried for that comforting smile again, though I couldn’t see his face.

                “Forgive me. I only just realized, have you told your son that we’ve gone? I don’t think he seems like the sort to be pleased when he makes such discoveries without being told something first.” I laughed, I couldn’t help it, squeezing the hobbit softly and shaking my head.

                “Legolas? If I told him, he would only insist upon coming along, which I could not deal with. Had I been able to leave you at the palace with him, I would have done so.” I had long ago sworn that I wouldn’t let him be hurt, no matter how stubborn he could be when it came to my attempts at protecting him. I sighed; Bilbo would almost certainly be the same, from what I’d so far seen, and oh, if ever they spent time _together_ my life would become so terribly difficult, for they would never stop conspiring. I could already envision it; now, if only I could stop finding it amusing for long enough to think of a solution! I smiled to myself, hidden and light, bending down as quickly as I could manage to press a light kiss against the hobbit’s curly, soft honey hair.

                “Don’t be foolish, Thranduil,” he said, voice light and teasing, “I would not be left at the palace even if this was not my quest. I don’t expect Legolas appreciates it either.” Ah, it was already beginning, and they’d only shared a single dinner! Oakenshield watched us from the corner of his eye, surely listening to every word we spoke as if to catch me at something underhanded. Bilbo, at least, didn’t seem to notice, else he’d have probably scolded the dwarf again, and though that would have been very amusing, I wished to spend the time speaking with him instead of listening to him speak with another.

                “So I’m beginning to realize. You truly are something special, Bilbo,” I said, voice warm as I could make it, and he turned his head to look at me again, a gentle, pleased smile curling his lips.

                “Thank you for telling me so, Thranduil. I can’t help but think the same of you.” The sincerity struck me like a stone, and for the first time I saw in his eyes something like a reflection of my own gaze; I don’t suppose I really understood what he’d meant before when he said he thought he felt something similar to my own descriptions, but at that moment, I certainly did. I had a chance, more than a chance, and he was letting me see as much. I would not lose that, I decided, not for a second time. I had failed in much, and would likely fail in more still, but in that, if nothing else, I would find success.

* * *

 

Bilbo’s POV

                I never imagined how comfortable it could possibly be to ride something as large as Arasson, and yet I felt calmer upon his back than I ever had upon my pony’s, however much I’d grown to care for her. Perhaps it was something to do with Thranduil’s warmth at my back, his soft voice warm above me as we rode through the dark woods towards Laketown, or perhaps it was merely the lightness of my own heart, or perhaps it was both; I don’t know, truly, but it was pleasant even still. I was smiling even in my worry for what was to come simply because Thranduil, probably without even intending to do as much, had given me hope for success again. Had we not been riding, I could’ve kissed him then; whenever we stopped, I resolved to do as much.

                It was a bit difficult to believe that so soon before I’d been shocked enough to faint when he told me what he felt for me where now the knowledge came to me as easily as my own name. Not to mention that time was heightening my own reaction to him, making me realize more and more how easily I could grow to care for him, how much I already _did_ care for him. It was... a strange feeling; I’d never imagined I’d have a soul mate, and yet… I didn’t know if it was precisely the same thing, but it felt close enough to me and I was… well, I was happy.

                Thranduil was strong, I knew that, and very intelligent, yet still there was that sweetness to him, a soft spoken, unyielding nature I couldn’t help but admire. I could fall in love with him; I’d realized that almost from the moment he’d found me wandering the dungeon. I could fall in love with him as easily as breathing, and the nearer he was, the more he spoke, the simpler it seemed to be becoming. At least, I supposed, it was simple to tell that he felt the same from the way he spoke with me as we journeyed, easy and teasing.

                He made the travel pass quickly, and I almost wished he’d been with us the whole journey, beyond the fact that it would’ve made the minor arguing that took place simply from the same people being stuck in close quarters for a long period turn into very probable knock-down, drag-out brawls. It seemed that within moments Laketown was in sight, though I knew well enough that hours had passed. I wondered as we rode to the gates of the town what our welcome would be and could only hope that Thranduil had enough power to get us safe passage even if he couldn’t give us aid. At least, I decided, we were in a better position than the one we’d been in before, and I… well, I always had wanted someone with whom to share my life. Perhaps I’d finally found him.


	8. Chapter 8

Thandaer’s POV

                As we rode into Laketown, silence reigned; people off to market dropped their baskets and fell to their knees at the sight of my lord, the scarcely seen ruler of the Mirkwood, as if they thought he would expect as much simply because he was king. The dwarf lord watched them warily, distrust swirling in the ice of his eyes, and I supposed I could understand as much. Chances were, he had not had particularly pleasant encounters with men, in his time; many, I knew, had taken advantage of the newly-homeless dwarves of Erebor shortly after Smaug’s arrival, and king or not, Oakenshield had likely not been spared that.  

                In any case, though the people were obviously a bit terrified of Thranduil and the cold, noble dwarf, they still cast curious eyes to the small creature bundled in front of Thranduil, held close and partly hidden from prying eyes by the curl of my king’s arm and the drape of his coat. I listened to them mumbling to one another as closely as I was able as I rode by, leading the other guards while the dwarf who rode beside me, an older fellow who’d actually been quite pleasant conversation on the way here, led the remainder of Oakenshield’s ragtag company.

                Most, oddly enough, thought him a child, though I had to wonder how many children they imagined were running about Mirkwood for Thranduil to have simply happened upon one. Perhaps they succumbed to the old tales men once told, about how elves snuck into human homes at night and stole away with their children, and I chuckled a bit at the thought. Were he truly a child, Bilbo would’ve fit perfectly into such a tale; he looked and acted precisely like the children in those stories always did, with pale, curly hair, a kind smile, and a penchant for adventures. None of them recognized him as a hobbit; did they even know what hobbits were, I wondered? They were, after all, so very far from the Shire, and I knew that no other hobbit had ever managed to travel so far from there.

                As for Bilbo himself, he looked around curiously, eyes wide and bright as he looked over the stalls we passed, chattering quietly with Thranduil the whole while. Thranduil himself chuckled quietly at something the hobbit said, and I could feel my own lips tilting up even as the guards behind me turned to stare at one another as if their neighbor held the answer to why their king was acting so strangely. The older dwarf beside me chuckled quietly, shaking his head and smiling at the Oakenshield’s back.

                “You know, I never thought I’d see the day when Thorin was so concerned for one not of our blood,” he said, and I tilted my head towards him, letting him see that I wanted him to elaborate. “Thorin’s always been a bit… well, he’s never been too terribly fond of anyone who wasn’t family or a dear friend of family, and if ever he even spoke to someone who wasn’t a dwarf I considered it something close to a miracle. For him to care so much about Bilbo is strange, if not unwelcome. After all, I expect the only other two whose personal life he’d stick his nose in so obviously are Fili and Kili, and they’re his heirs.”

                “Oh?” I asked, and he nodded thoughtfully, one hand stroking lightly through his thick beard.

                “Oh, yes. Of course, come to think of it, he was this way when his sister wedded as well; I expect he almost strangled her husband more than once simply because he was under the impression that no one was good enough for her. I do understand why he feels so with Bilbo now, though; in a way, all of us feel the same.” Fondness painted his expression as Thranduil stopped a particularly harried looking man and asked where the Master of the town resided. The man, tripping over his tongue and his feet, scrambled to point the way. I almost felt bad for the poor fellow, who looked so grateful to be alive when Thranduil nodded and waved him off that I couldn’t help but toss him a small purse as I rode by him.

                “Why is that? I imagine he’s capable of looking after himself, isn’t he? I will admit that I do not know him as well as you all probably do, but he is nothing if not brave.” The dwarf laughed out that, boisterous and easy, nodding faintly as I finished speaking.

                “Brave? Yes, he is definitely that! He’s saved us more than once, Thorin more than any of us; jumped in front of an Orcish blade for Thorin, he did. He’d saved us before then as well, at least once, but that was when Thorin finally realized how unfairly he’d judged the lad when we first set off from his little hole in the ground. That’s why he cares for him so fiercely now, you see; making up for lost time and all that. As for the rest of us, he’s our brother in spirit even if he isn’t a dwarf, so of course we don’t want him hurt.” There was a sincerity to him that the other dwarves were not so willing to show, or at least weren’t willing to show to me. Perhaps he, at least, was wise enough to see that Thranduil meant Bilbo no harm, that none of us did. I could only hope; Oakenshield respected him, from what I’d seen, so perhaps if he told him as much he’d stop glaring so harshly, or at least wouldn’t do it as often.

                I nodded thoughtfully, turning my attention to the path we walked; this town truly was filthy. I wondered when it had become so, when I remembered it as such a pleasant place. Of course, it had been some time since I’d had need to come here; as far as I knew, I’d never even met the man who was Master now. Still, eventually we came across the Master’s home, and found it larger and far cleaner than the remainder of the city. The curtain’s rustled, whatever presence there was behind them certainly nervous and wary. Thorin climbed from his pony the moment we reached the building, knuckles rapping harshly against the door. A new silence fell, this one at least shorter than the last, as a particularly slimy looking servant opened the door and scrambled to fetch the Master, who prostrated himself upon the floor before he even reached the foot of the stairs. I sighed. I expect Thranduil did as well, though Thorin only looked faintly disgusted.

                “King Thranduil, it is an honor,” the Master said, though his voice was muffled from its proximity to the floor, and even had it been clear, he spoke so quickly that I had to struggle to understand him. “And… and Thorin Oakenshield, is that you? So wonderful to have you with us as well, what can I do for you gentlemen and your… is that a child? Oh, what a lovely child!” Bilbo squawked rather indignantly, as if only just realizing how Thranduil so carefully cradled him, and wriggled a little where he sat upon the elk. Thranduil laughed, and even Thorin appeared to be fighting a smile.

                “Why, I never! I am a fully grown hobbit, not a… a child!” The Master appeared to be nearly certain that he would be beheaded where he lay, and then appeared to be seriously contemplating the benefits of groveling.

                “I’m sorry!” he began, “I’ve only… we’ve never had a hobbit here. Forgive me the misunderstanding-.” Blessedly, Oakenshield cut him off.

                “Save your begging. We are here because I plan to reclaim my mountain from Smaug. We wished only to warn you of as much, so you might have your people leave the city for a time. I will pay for the trouble, of course, and supply aid should damage befall the city.” His voice was flat and cool, almost passionless; I almost couldn’t believe the shift. The Master scrambled suddenly to his feet, his servant helping him, and looked to be thinking rather seriously about something. I almost thought to warn him of headaches when his lips split into an unnerving grin.

                “Of course, of course! I always knew that one day you’d reclaim Erebor, Thorin Oakenshield; yes, from the very moment I heard the story, I thought, he’ll knock on my door one day, ready as you please to get rid of that dragon. And while I was thinking that, I thought, of course I’ve got to help him! Ah, but I’m an old man, now, hardly fit for battle, and my town is so poor, so what can I offer? Then, I remembered: I’ve a fine warrior in my town, I do! Bard, Bard the Bowman! He works on the barges, you see; I insist that you all make use of him in your quest!” I wondered if I’d ever met someone so blatantly conniving before. Had he never heard of subtlety? I’ve heard some say that we elves have it in spades, and so expect too much of it from others, but surely wishing for just a bit of tact is not out of line, is it? Oddly enough, both Thranduil and Thorin looked ready to start yelling at the man, very likely for different reasons, but Bilbo’s voice stopped them both.

                “We’ll accept that,” he said, too quickly for the others to protest, and the Master rattled off an address and pointed down the street, saying his goodbyes as quickly as he was able and slamming the door behind him. He didn’t bother to even pretend as if he was going to speak a word to the townsfolk about our plans.

                “Bilbo,” Thorin hissed, “why did you agree to that?” Bilbo gave him a certain look that I wouldn’t relish being on the receiving end of; strange, how a hobbit can so easily make an elf feel small.

                “Because we haven’t the time to argue, Thorin, not with Durin’s Day so near and a mountain yet to climb; besides, someone will need to tell the people what’s happening, correct? He certainly isn’t going to, and I expect this Bard could manage that, don’t you?” Thranduil looked exceptionally proud, hand stroking softly through Bilbo’s hair, and Thorin, much though it shocked me, let out a laugh, one that sounded truly pleased.

                “Clever thing,” he said, and Bilbo looked so pleased at the praise from the two of them that I thought he’d surely burst. With that, Thranduil sent two men to this Bard’s home to tell him the news while the rest of us left the city, tying our mounts to some scraggly trees at the foot of the mountain and starting the slow hike up.

* * *

 

Bilbo’s POV

                I walked at Thranduil’s side, my hand held in his firm grasp, as if he thought I needed the help to climb when my feet moved just as surely over the uneven ground as his own. Still, it wasn’t unwelcome, by any means; I was glad of the companionship, especially after my vague thoughts on the ride to Laketown.

                “Bilbo,” he finally said, voice so low that I almost missed the call for my attention. I wondered if he thought someone would actually care enough over his conversations with me to listen in, and laughed quietly to myself at the thought.     

                “Yes?”

                “Have you given thought to the things I’ve said?” he asked, and I blinked. Would it be… appropriate to tell him that I had, to speak of the conclusions I’d reached, to say that I was, perhaps, falling for him as well? Well, he’d asked; surely he wouldn’t have if he didn’t want an honest answer. He, after all, wasn’t the sort to seek out a lie, however comforting said lie might’ve been. I swallowed, offering a wavering smile, and nodded hesitantly.

                “I have. I think… I think that I feel something similar to what you do. Not so intense, perhaps, but it’s certainly easy to imagine myself with you over the rest of my life.” The hand around mine squeezed, so lightly that I could’ve mistaken if for an unintentional twitch had anyone but the ever-deliberate Thranduil done it. He smiled down at me, so sweet that I almost couldn’t believe it, and I returned the expression as best I was able.

                “Is that so? I must say that that’s unexpected, though far from unpleasant. I’m glad that you’ve… that, once this is all over, I’ve something to look forward to.” He bent as if to kiss my head again, and I managed to catch him by the jaw and press a soft kiss to his lips instead. He actually stared at me, shock blatant on his face, and grinned like the fool I knew he wasn’t for a split second before he face faded to its usual serenity again. “Burglar indeed,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head, and I laughed.

                “Oh, don’t you go on about that too, now! Honestly that’s likely the first thing I’ve ever stolen, if stealing a kiss even counts as true thievery! Besides, I imagine I deserve a kiss or two, don’t you?” I asked, and he had the gall to look thoughtful about that.

                “I suppose you do, burglar hobbit of the shire; perhaps I can spare a few, hm? Whenever we stop walking, of course.” It was strange, how simple such a conversation with such a being truly was; I’d certainly never imagined that I would end up here, of all places, when I set off on this quest! Not that I was complaining, obviously; I knew well enough the sort of fates that could’ve befallen me on this journey, and I expected that this was about as close as anything to the best case scenario. I smiled.

                “I’ll need more than a few, I’m afraid. Only to be certain that I am falling in love with you, you see.” He sighed, world-weary and long suffering, one hand sweeping back his hair in a quick, fluid motion.

                “My, the crosses an elven king must carry! But, still, I think I will manage.” I’d never expected I’d have such fun teasing an elven king, and yet I wasn’t sure I’d had as much fun teasing anyone before, not even Lobelia! I picked up his hand, still curled around mine, and pecked it once.

                “Such a strong king,” I said, and the both of us laughed. On and on we went that way, chatting quietly or simply taking comfort in one another’s presence until, after perhaps two days of climbing, we reached the peak of the mountain with only hours to spare until the last light of Durin’s Day passed.

                Honestly, when we figured out the riddle to open the door, it was a bit… underwhelming. Honestly I’d expected a more dramatic door, rather than a rough-hewn cut into the mountain, underused even in its prime and dusty as anything. What I didn’t expect, however, was for Thranduil to look at the door, look at the dwarves, look at me, and then shake his head once, very firmly.

                “No,” he said, flat and bland, tugging me against his chest. “He isn’t going in there.” And, for the first time, I was entirely unsure as to what to say to Thranduil in response.


	9. Chapter 9

Thranduil’s POV

                It wasn’t that I wished the dwarves’ quest to fail, not truly. In fact, the more I considered it, the more I hoped for its success; after all, this particular mountain was in a very useful strategic position, one I would not relish the orcs gaining if ever they did manage to rid the place of the dragon that inhabited it, which, I knew, was more likely with every passing day. After all, I’d seen the same signs the dwarves had and the same signs the rest of Middle Earth would have; it was time for Erebor to be taken again, though by who I wasn’t entirely certain. The dwarves would be a far more palatable option than some, however, and one I would gladly take. I simply did not want Bilbo to be the one first thrown into the lion’s den, as it were.

                I had seen what dragons could do. I had _felt_ what dragons could do, and still felt it depending on the season. I would not throw Bilbo to such a beast as if he were simply an offering, a necessary sacrifice to fetch a silly, if very pretty, stone for a dwarven lord to prove his rule when none have even contested it. My hands clenched a bit around Bilbo, and his soft, small hand settled gently on my arm.

                My thoughts flashed to a different battle so very many years before, to the only other who’d ever held my heart as Bilbo now did. I had seen her die, had held her as she did, and I would not, could not, suffer such again. I had failed in protecting her, failed in giving Legolas the life and the love he deserved, failed in ruling my kingdom, and I would not fail to protect Bilbo no matter what I had to give to do it. So, I held him tighter still, taking a half step from the rough doorway as if I thought one of the dwarves would simply snatch him and throw him within the mountain.

                “If you need that stone so badly, Oakenshield, I’ll fetch it myself. Don’t pretend as if you care for him as well only to throw him to a dragon.” His lips parted, the cold blue of his eyes boring into me as if he couldn’t believe I’d dared to say such a thing. When I glanced down at Bilbo, I noted that he was looking at me in much the same way. I wondered when a lack of desire to send a loved one to face a dragon become so impossible to understand; I was nearly certain that I hadn’t been isolated from the remainder of Middle Earth for quite long enough for that to happen, in any case, so I only raised a brow. “I don’t want you to be hurt, Bilbo.” An older dwarf settled an easy hand on Oakenshield’s shoulder, shaking his head when the other looked ready to speak. There was wisdom in his eyes, at least; perhaps he saw sense.

                “Smaug knows the smell of dwarf and of elf, Lord Thranduil. I understand your concerns, but Bilbo is the only one of us here with any hope of entering and leaving undetected. Besides, he is lighter of foot than even your people; you’ve realized as much, haven’t you? Else he’d have not been able to creep undetected through your dungeons for so long.” Truthfully, I had suspicions on how that had been done, and though soft footfalls had surely helped, they were most certainly not the true cause of his invisibility.

                I had not seen him with my eyes, that evening I caught him, nor had I truly found him by sound alone; though I was blind in one eye and near enough to it in the other, the magic fire that had taken my sight did leave me able to see more clearly through workings of magic. Bilbo had appeared to me as a shadow, then, a darker splotch in already dark halls, a spell of invisibility that only the finest sorcerers I’d met had been able to manage; I knew of but one artifact that could grant a hobbit such a Bilbo with no talent in such arcane arts the ability to do the same. I knew well enough that he planned to use it now, to help him sneak in and out of the dragon’s lair, and so too did I know that it would do him as little good against Smaug as with myself. If he so much as rattled a coin whilst he stood at the dragon’s side, it would awaken and he would be found.

                “It takes more than a light hand to steal treasure from a dragon, Master Dwarf, surely you know that. Bilbo is quick and clever; that I would never refute. However, he is not skilled with a blade, and though no swordsman alone could kill it, skill with a weapon could at least prove diversion enough to escape. Why even fight it alone, truly? The door is open, and it will not close until someone chooses to close it. Call your armies, Oakenshield, and I will call my own.” The dwarf king tensed his jaw, glowering darkly at me. Had he been far taller than he was, he’d have stared down his nose at me. As it stood, he stared down his nose at my boot. Still, he did not speak.

                “He needs the Arkenstone before armies will come, Thranduil. These dwarves with him are the only ones willing to follow until he holds it in hand; the rest do not believe the dragon can be bested.” Perhaps they were intelligent in that, if nothing else. There were few dragons so old and so strong as Smaug; he had earned the fear he garnered with death and fire aplenty, and little but villages turned to ash ever remained in his wake. Not to say he was immortal, of course; he was not, he could die as anything else could. He was far from vulnerable, however; he could easily slay an army before a single blade was drawn. Still, we would have better chances then than like this, throwing Bilbo to him like an appetizer before the evening meal, and I did not disagree that Bilbo was the only one Smaug would be unable to smell, at least immediately.   

                “Tell them he has it; they will know nothing of the deception until a sword pierces the dragon’s heart. Or, for all it truly matters to me, you all can give in here. I simply will not let Bilbo do this.” That, I think, was the first moment Bilbo ever looked truly upset with me. I could only try to keep my face firm and hope that he did not know yet how easily I would bend to him despite my own misgivings, despite my fears.

                “Please, Thranduil, I know that you see that that won’t work. We won’t beat Smaug with any sort of assault; if we can’t surprise him, we won’t succeed. Let me do this; I’m frightened, I’ll admit, but I want to, for my friends. I’ll come back,” he swore, and I could feel the ache in my heart as plainly as if an arrow had pierced it. Thandaer, my guard, took a half step forward, hand out; he, at least, knew what I felt then, had perhaps stood in my position before. From what I recalled, his wife was a warrior as well, after all. I swallowed stiffly and prayed only that I wouldn’t be shown such a person that I could love, that I could hold, only to have them taken from me so swiftly. And then, I nodded, loosening my hold of him and stepping away.

                “Go, then, before I lose the will to let you.” Pain, mixed with some of the fear he’d admitted to, flashed quick and vibrant across his face for a moment, before he set it with determination. Oakenshield, along with most of the other dwarves, looked away. My elves only watched him with something like awe as he strode into the mountain, almost like a king himself, and I couldn’t help but think how well he would do ruling at my side, how much better my kingdom could become with him in it, how much happier life at the palace would be. I could’ve collapsed where I stood, my body felt so week, so helpless. The hidden scars across my face stung and burned fiercely, as if I were only just receiving them. I could not stand to even look at the doorway, instead moving to settle on a stone near the center of my cluster of guards. “Keep your bows ready; if you see the dragon fly free, do not hesitate to shoot.” They listened with the same grim determination as ever, and Thandaer came to stand by me.

                “I will not ask if you are well, my lord, but I do ask if there is anything you’d have me do.” I could see easily that he hoped I’d ask him to follow Bilbo into the mountain, to protect him, and though I half-wished to do it, I knew I could not. Any others in the mountain would only increase his chance of being discovered, and if there was any hope that he could return unharmed, I would clutch it until it was gone.

                “No. You’ve the truest shot of anyone here, Thandaer; you’re best served keeping your eyes to air.” I glanced at the dwarves. They all seemed unwilling to come nearer and sit amongst us; I assumed it had something to do with the guilt in their eyes, the fact that they knew as well as I that every chance said they’d just sent one they called friend and brother to his death. Perhaps I might have commented on that, once upon a time, made it a point to mention their greed, but I had no desire to fight them then, to spark an argument so many of them would be so willing to let me win. I’d only wanted to keep my people, my son, my loved ones safe, to keep them separate; I’d had enough of war and fighting and death. All of Middle Earth had had enough, from what I could see, yet still it persisted and no matter how I’d tried to stay out of it, it had come to my doorstep with bells on. I laughed, low, under my breath, so quietly that not even my guards heard.

                One of the dwarves, the younger of Oakenshield’s heirs, came over to me slowly, distrust darkening his already dark eyes even further, his thick hand curled tight around the bow we’d given him. I feared for a moment he would break it in his grip; it was, after all, a child’s bow, made to bend more easily as they learned the art of shooting them. It held strong, however; perhaps his grip wasn’t as tight as it appeared, or perhaps he simply didn’t have the same strength as his brothers in arms did. After all, it was rare for a dwarf to use a bow; surely there’d been a reason for the choice. He dropped beside me like the stone I sat upon, frowning deeply, lines he was too young to have earned creasing his face.

                “Do you really care about Bilbo, elf?” he asked me, brash with youth, and I could only laugh again, the desperation of it seeming to strike him as firmly as a blade would.

                “Yes. I feel as if I’m dying to think of him down there alone when I can do nothing to help him.” He was yet too young to hide what he felt; his shock was a mask I barely even had to glance at him to see. “What, you thought I was lying about what he was to me as well? Your uncle has that much say over what you see? Don’t be foolish; what reason could I possibly have to lie over this, to say that Bilbo is my One when he is not?” The dwarf squirmed, looking a bit nervous to sit so near to me, especially when I was so obviously out of sorts, but still he pressed on. That he cared for Bilbo as well was obvious, though I imagined he saw the hobbit more as another brother than anything.

                “Bilbo is… pretty,” he said, slowly, as if I hadn’t noticed. “Uncle has… known others like Bilbo, people who are pretty, mostly human girls who felt badly for some of the things he suffered in their cities. We didn’t always understand what he meant when he told us about them, until we met a bunch of drunken men not far from the Shire in some place called Bree who were harassing a hobbit girl. Bilbo was the one who stopped them; he’s a Baggins, which is apparently very important there, so they listened to him and left. Some of them gave him the same look they’d given her on their way out, though. Of course we worry that someone will do more than look, that they might even appeal to his emotions to get what they want.”

                Understanding flooded me suddenly; I’d assumed they’d disliked me and distrusted my intentions only because of the feud between my people and theirs,  but this… in a way, it proved to me how much Bilbo meant to them, that I and other elves weren’t the only one for whom they’d act this way. I nodded slowly.

                “You believed I wanted only his body, and that I told him I loved him only so that he’d give it willingly.” He nodded, very careful, and I sighed. “That is not true. I’ve noticed that he’s ‘pretty,’ as you put it, but I know many who are. I could find a willing bedmate with ease, Prince Kili; I simply do not want a bedmate only. My first wife died in battle many years ago, fighting orcs; I have been alone beyond my son ever since that moment. That I found Bilbo, that I had the same calling in my heart for him as for her, is a strange fluke of fate, but one I would never ignore or take for granted. I would cherish him for as long as I breathed; as of now, I fear only that I won’t have the opportunity.” He stared at me for a moment, dark eyes wide and open, until at last he nodded.

                “I believe you. Not that I like you, or that I won’t still tell Bilbo he can do better, but I do believe you. I’ll let Fili know; he was going to slip a snake in your bedroll tonight. Not poisonous, I promise, but it does have a vicious bite nonetheless,” he said, grinning a little before he stood, bowed, and made his way back to the dwarves, his brother specifically. I turned my attention back to the doorway, breath too thick in my lungs, and waited, desperately hoping as moment after moment passed that Bilbo would step again into the light and my waiting arms.


	10. Chapter 10

                When Bilbo finally burst from Erebor, it was with terror painted over his face, and his hands shook madly. I understood immediately what had happened, before the words even slipped from his wavering lips; the dragon had awoken despite his light feet and his ring. I wondered how it could possibly move through the mountain kingdom so silently only moments before I heard its enraged roar, my body moving towards Bilbo without the consent of my mind to take him in my arms. He threw his own around me as well, face pressing light against my chest for but a moment before his fear seemed to settle deep within him, and he stepped away.

                “We mustn’t let it leave the mountain,” he said, “We haven’t any idea whether Laketown has been fully evacuated yet.” All but one of my guards stared at him as if they thought him a fool, but the dwarves, all of them appearing suddenly as cold and expressionless as the stone they worked, only nodded.

                “You’ve sharp eyes, Bilbo; did you see any weakness to it?” Oakenshield asked, voice deep and strong as he stepped a little nearer to us, and Bilbo made a noise that sounded as if he had.

                “He’s missing a scale,” he said, “Very near his heart, if I were to guess.” I recalled a story very suddenly, one of the dragon’s original assault on the castle. There had been a certain sort of arrow, very large and very sharp, that someone had fired towards the creature’s chest. Most thought it had missed its mark. Perhaps, however, it had not. I wondered if that town of men had kept the other arrows, and with that question, told the others the tale.

                My elves did not recognize it, nor did the majority of the dwarves, but Bilbo, and those dwarves who seemed to be of common blood had heard it told before, if a bit more extravagantly than I recalled it.

                “We need those arrows,” I heard Oakenshield say, authority booming in his voice. His kingdom so near, he sounded more a king than I’d ever heard him; perhaps it was a sign of success, or perhaps I had simply become as much a fool as the dwarves. I looked to my guards, and they, of course, caught my meaning quickly. A few began gathering their things for the trek down the mountain, yet Oakenshield stopped them before they could go, sounding somehow so powerful that even they were unwilling to go so directly against him. A spark of annoyance hit me at the way he so easily trod over my own strength, as if he had a right to command my men, and what he said next angered me even further. “You go, Thranduil, not your guards.”

                I felt an old rage burn in me, one I’d thought gone with winters passed, and I’m under no illusions that I could’ve resisted acting on it if not for Bilbo, who touched my arm lightly and drew me down for a quick, sweet kiss I barely felt before he pulled away.

                “He’s right, Thranduil. We’ve plenty here who fight with swords and axes, and only one who uses a bow. We need your guards, Thranduil, all of them; I’d like to have you as well, of course, but you’re fleet-footed and wise. I trust you more than anyone to find these arrows, or at least to find someone else who knows where they are, just as I trust you most to have a shot true enough to hit so small a target, should it come to that.” I almost thought to ask him to go with me, to keep him at my side and keep him safe, but I knew he’d refuse; he was too stubborn, too proud, too brave, and I knew well enough that he’d think only that I was doing so just because I thought that he could not care for himself. Still, I swallowed stiffly and nodded, taking a kiss of my own, the first I’d begun, before I stepped away.

                “Be safe, Bilbo, please.” He laughed, quiet and fearful but still so very determined, and I hoped that I would be able to return and scold him for trying too hard to prove himself when he’d already been proven.

                “I will do my best, Thranduil, and ask that you do the same,” he said, reaching out and squeezing my hand once before he, the dwarves, and my guards all entered the mountain. The moment the shadows took them, I turned on my heels and began to run as quickly as I was able, and though I was not able to move as surely as I was able in my own woods, I still managed to make good time down the mountain and into Laketown, most especially after I was able to fetch Arasson, for he was far more certain over the strange earth than I.

                I found but one man left in Laketown, clustered with the elves I’d left; he was somber-faced and tall, dressed in peasant’s clothes, and in his white-knuckled grip he held a long, thick black arrow that he let none of my elves touch. He watched my approach with an animal’s wary gaze, as if he wished me to fear being bitten, and I nodded politely to my guards as I dismounted Arasson again.

                “That is the arrow that will slay Smaug?” I asked, and the man nodded once, gaze still suspicious, and I knew well enough that he only resisted a more violent, fearful response simply because my guards did not react to my presence. “I’ll have it, then; the dragon stirs, and if those within the mountain fail, it will fall upon me to slay it.” He clutched the arrow more tightly, taking a half-step back; his jaw tensed and his dark gaze darkened further as he looked upon me.

                “I will not give it over to you. It is my family’s right,” he said, and there was a nobility to his voice I hadn’t expected from one the Master had been so eager to be rid of. Even still, this was all I was then able to do to help Bilbo, and I would do it no matter what this man thought or desired; after all, I knew not when or if the dragon would free itself from the mountain, and I wanted to be where I could fire the arrow the moment it became necessary. I would not fail in this, I swore to myself one more time, and my mind flashed with pictures of my wife, of the last battle she’d fought. Ice tightened around the base of my spine again, serving only to make me more certain of what must be done.

                “I care little for your family’s right, Bard of Laketown. I will have the arrow.” He only shook his head, so collected that I could scarce believe that he was related to any of the men I’d met before.

                “No. If you worry over my skill with a bow, you need only ask your guards.” One of them flushed lightly, hand fingering a tear in his shirt where, I assumed, an arrow had grazed.

                “He is very skilled; more so than all of us, truly,” he said, and the other nodded half-fearfully, as if he thought I would reprimand him for agreeing. Perhaps I’d have argued further, but I knew we could have precious little time, and so I only nodded as if I would say nothing else even if I planned to argue more upon our arrival at the tower where the arrow could be fired.

                “Come, then; I do not know when or if the dragon will emerge, and I would like to be prepared. I will come with you just in case something goes wrong,” I said, and he nodded. I had my guards settle by two separate buildings on either side of the tower, bows drawn, in the hopes that they would be able to direct the dragon towards us if it managed to recognize that we posed a threat. He followed me to the top of the tower with the arrow still in hand. We stood there in silence for a time, and I wondered if the dragon would even leave if it killed them, or if it would simply stay in Erebor. If it did not return by nightfall, I decided, I would return myself, arrow with me, and stab it through the heart myself if I had to do so. The human watched me as if he had never seen an elf before, and I only rarely bothered to look back at him.

                “I didn’t know you elves cared so much for the plight of dwarves,” he said, and I showed as little expression in response as I was able.

                “We do not; I couldn’t care less for those dwarves.” He finally showed a trace of confusion rather than pure seriousness, expression curling a bit and making him look not as harsh as before.

                “Then why are you here?” he asked, and I laughed.

                “My heart travels at their side, and I am too weak to refuse him.” He seemed unsure of whether to laugh along with me, instead only looking more confused until I explain. “They travel with a hobbit, and when they passed through my kingdom, I realized that I loved him. I came here with him, not with the dwarves, and it is he that I wish to protect, though he’s rather stubborn about that. That is why I wished to make that shot; he offered me his trust, and I cannot be unworthy of that.” His gaze softened, something warm flooding his face for a moment before he solidified his stare again.

                “I understand that. My children, they fled the village, but I know that Smaug will still pass over them if he is allowed to go farther than this village. My own wife is already gone; I don’t want the same fate to befall my children.” I had never felt kinship with a human before that moment, and yet his words brought a sort of comfort to me; he and I were one and the same, at least in our motivations, and that I could respect. I nodded towards him; he returned it.

                With that, we fell silent, both of our faces turned to the sky, to Erebor, until at last we saw it, the distant, awful shadow of Smaug, who flew directly towards us with death in his eyes and flames pluming from his mouth, burning in his chest. My scars ached miserably, pulsing in time with the beat of the dragon’s wings, and both Bard and I ran to the contraption built for the arrow. He notched it as the dragon drew nearer, settling atop one building not too far from us and sending wave after wave of fire over the village. I thought of my guards for a time, praying that they had thought to find somewhere to hide and avoid the scorching flames, and then wiped it all from my conscious.

                Smaug had not seen us yet, I knew that, but I could faintly see the place where the arrow needed to strike, small and nearly hidden by his wing, but yes, Bilbo had been right; it was right over his heart. If the arrow pierced that place, he would die. It jumped forward, one building nearer, and then, then, it saw us. Something like amusement twisted its face, and I spared a glance to Bard, Bard who fought for the same things as I, and said something I thought I never would.

                “Together?” He nodded, bending down to aim the contraption whilst I helped to steady it on the target. “For Bilbo,” I murmured, hoping that I had dedicated the act to a still living hobbit, and heard Bard mumble names I didn’t recognize, again and again, like a mantra. Smaug grew so near that I could feel the heat of his fire. Bard loosed the arrow.

                It flew straight and true, striking its target just as Smaug had opened his mouth and begun to spill flame again, and I watched it spiral up, up, up, towards the sea, and then saw its wings simply seize and cease functioning as it died, body tumbling into the water with a final, deafening splash. The city burned around the tower. Bard and ran to the ground as quickly as we could, running from the village to the foot of the mountain again.

                We found Arasson, who must have fled upon the dragon’s arrival, along with but one of my men whose expression told me well what had happened to the other. I bent my head for a moment; I had time enough only to hope his spirit was at rest before I started up the mountain again. I would have a better service for him upon my arrival back at Mirkwood; he would have a hero’s service, at least, and his family would be cared for. At that moment, however, I had to see if Bilbo was well, or if he was hurt; I could only have moments to save him if something had happened, and I refused to waste any more time. I didn’t even bother to see whether Bard or my guard followed me as I ran.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the shorter chapter this week; I promise I'll make up for it with a longer one next week!

Atop the mountain, I found pile upon pile of rubble; the sky was still dismal, any light that might’ve existed covered by layers of smoke and clouds. I let my eyes drift over the devastation, and finally saw movement near one pile of rocks. I scarcely remember moving there, but the next moment I was aware, I was crouched by the stones, breath caught in my throat as I saw a flash of honey curls. Bilbo looked up at me slowly, face dirty and skin scraped and bruised but otherwise unharmed, and I could not resist the urge to hold him then.

My heart could not decide if it wished to sing or weep; my hands shook like never before, my eyes closing, and the hobbit’s own small hand patted my upper arm lightly, a little smile curling his lips as he moved to return my embrace. It had been some time since such light filled my mind; hope felt a strange thing, now that I’d been so very long without it that I hadn’t even realized I’d lost it.  

“You see, Thranduil? I told you I’d be alright,” he murmured, voice low and perhaps a bit scratchy, but he still had it, he was alright, and still I could barely believe that it was true, that it was even possible.

“Thank you,” I whispered back, not entirely sure myself who I was thanking, and Bilbo laughed.

“I’m glad you’re alright as well. Come, let’s find the dwarves and your guards. They headed for the mountain not long ago, but I wanted to wait for you; I assumed you’d have quite the fit if you didn’t see me here when you returned.” When, not if; had he truly been so confident? I wondered if I ought to have been flattered or if I ought to have informed him that I was not, in fact, immune to death by way of dragon and ultimately decided to do neither. Bilbo, after all, seemed to have his own reasons for doing and saying what he did, and I supposed it was not my place to treat him as if he did not.

In any case, when he stood and started walking towards the mountain’s entrance again, I found myself unable to totally let him go; I held his hand like a lifeline, like a child, and brushed my thumb compulsively over his skin. Bard and my remaining guard, who apparently had followed, trailed along after us, and I could almost feel Bard’s smile against my back.

When we stepped into the mountain, a sudden chill permeated my bones and the musty smell of dragon filled the air. I edged closer to Bilbo and for once let another lead me; in regards to regular sight, I was nearer to fully blind than was usual in the pitch darkness, and the close quarters brought me discomfort as I was so used to being in open wood. Bilbo, I think, tried to offer me a comforting smile, but I could barely see the shift of his lips, much less any fine detail.

Eventually, however, we came into a wider cavern that was lit by old torches on the walls and filled with gold and treasures. The dwarves and my elves were scattered among it, chatting softly, fingers shifting slowly through the coins and filling the air with their quiet clink. A certain wildness lingered around Oakenshield’s eyes as we entered, his fists clenched, white-knuckled, around handfuls of coins and gems. No one else seemed to notice, and for myself, I tensed; I’d seen gold sickness before, in his grandfather. It was not a pretty sight, and not one I wished to revisit. I wondered if he knew how dangerous it was to keep treasure so long warmed beneath a dragon’s belly and imagined he scarcely even cared.

The dwarves cheered at the sight of Bilbo, and, I suppose, myself, for my presence marked the dragon slain. My guard rejoined the rest, while Bard stood, stiff-backed, beside Bilbo and myself, eyes searching the room as if it held the secrets to all the world. The hobbit tugged my hand lightly, leading me to sit with him beside a dwarf with a rather odd hat, a particularly heavy dwarf, and a dwarf who speared to have an axe lodged in his head. I did not deem it appropriate to ask questions. Still, at least, all but the one with the axe were pleasant enough conversation, and I did at least manage to decipher some of what the axe-dwarf was attempting to say based upon some sort of crude sign language. Oddly, it was actually a rather pleasant night, which I surely never would’ve expected in the company of dwarves; perhaps the young princes had spread the word that my intentions towards their burglar were honest.

I smiled a little to myself, pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s lips and feeling oddly pleased with myself when he did the same. Still I could not really bring myself to let him go, now instead only pulling him so he lay with his head over my lap, where he could rest. My hand settled in his hair, stroking through the matted curls and wishing for a tub of water so that I might get some of the dirt out, but knowing that I should’ve only been counting myself lucky that all had turned out as well as it had.

Bilbo drifted easily into sleep, just as my elves, Bard, and all the dwarves but Oakenshield, who stood and began pacing through the treasury, did. For my part, worry nagged me into continued wakefulness, though my body made its need for rest well-known. I knew it was founded when, the next morning, Oakenshield had his dwarves begin their search for the Arkenstone in the mess of lesser treasures.


	12. Chapter 12

                With every hour that passed, I could feel Bilbo’s fear heighten. Oakenshield did not ask him to search, of course, didn’t ask anyone but his dwarves to do it, and when Bilbo acted as if he were even considering offering his aid the dwarf king only settled a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, smiling faintly, saying that Bilbo had done enough for a hundred dwarves, that he needed to rest, and my hobbit only squirmed. I recognized the light in Oakenshield’s eyes, wild and bright, recognized the coldness developing in the way he held himself. For his grandfather, the gold sickness had been a creeping thing, slowly overtaking him. For him, it seemed to have overtaken him as suddenly and swiftly as a tidal wave. Perhaps it was because the dragon had lain above it for so long, coveting and hoarding, I did not know and truly did not care. For myself, I’d never found much value in the pretty gems of the earth, beyond the fact that I could buy the things my kingdom needed with them. Bilbo himself seemed to care even less than that, eyes not even lingering for a moment on the piles of treasures.

                Of course, from what I knew of hobbits, that was quite normal; many of them didn’t even bother with gold, instead choosing to barter for what they needed or wanted. I always found it a bit funny, in a way; the men of Bree relied on their crops above all else, and they could’ve charged what they pleased for them, yet instead they chose to sell them for work or metal tools instead of coin. I could see the worry in Bilbo’s eyes even still, however, and as little as I cared for Oakenshield myself, I knew that he was a dear friend to Bilbo, so truly I wished that I knew of anything to do.  

                Despite my wish, though, there was nothing that could be done for Oakenshield beyond either taking away the treasure or separating him from it, neither of which I thought truly possible, so I tried instead to distract Bilbo from him. More often than not he wouldn’t have it, instead trying desperately to drag the dwarf from the treasury, which I suppose I ought to have expected, given how stubborn he’d proved himself to be. Late that evening, though, when a dwarf I’d come to know relatively well, called Bofur, led Bilbo from the room with promises of a good, hearty dinner, Oakenshield approached me, settling heavily beside me with shadows in his eyes. I thought for a moment that perhaps he would choose that moment to send me from the mountain, to seal Bilbo from me, but instead he only gazed deeply into the fire I was seated in front of and sighed.

                “I would like to give you something,” he said, very quietly. “For Bilbo, of course, not for you. I know that he will not stay here, and I would like nothing more than for him to… than to know that he is safe. Here, it’s mithril; give it to him, and worry not over blade or arrow ever piercing him where it covers. I care little if you say that it is from me or from yourself. I’ve also found… there is a necklace here that I think was made for your people. It’s rather pretty; perhaps you can give him that as well, if you like, and there are some loose stones with it still. I could make something else with them, perhaps; surely you’ve no proper crown for a consort such as him in your palace.” The distance in his eyes then as he handed me an exceptionally light mail coat was not entirely the sort of sickness, but rather something a little fonder, a little more reminiscent of the Thorin Oakenshield I’d once known.

                “You do not seem the sort to give up so valuable a treasure. I am under no illusions that you do not know the value of this mail, Oakenshield; you know as well as I that without Moria, you will never see this much mithril again. If the stones you speak of are the ones I believe, you will never find more like them again either.” He laughed, faint and low, sounding almost as if it physically hurt him and still not looking me in the face.

                “For one who claims to love him, you know little of his value. Mithril and stones, whether they be stones of starlight or not, are nothing in comparison. I do not wish him to leave, and I certainly do not wish him to leave with _you_ , but I have seen that he will, and I will not feel well thinking him gone with nothing of me and no protection beyond your blade and your guards.” I curled my hand around the mithril, thought of the stones I’d so long missed, and watched him with a sort of curiosity. If the gold sickness had taken him fully, he would not have been able to do this. There was still something of the Thorin Oakenshield Bilbo knew within him, and I only barely suppressed the urge to spit old curses I’d long ago thought forgotten.

                I’d have to try something, then, for Bilbo; I would have been unable to live with myself if I acted as if all was lost when it was not, especially when I knew he cared so fiercely. I took a deep breath, nodded, and tried to will him into looking me in the face, but still he did not.

                “I know clearly his value; the only living being I could not place him above is my son, and still they stand equal with one another, and there is nothing and no one without life that I would place above him, though I do still have love for things and for people who have gone. I had merely assumed that, now that you are in your mountain and his purpose is served, you had forgotten all he has done and all he meant to you. I wonder, do you hold him in higher esteem than your precious Arkenstone?” The dwarf clenched his jaw and his fists, nails surely digging welts into his hands. His brow furrowed; at least I had him confused, if nothing else, though I imagined the anger would come shortly.

                “The two cannot be compared,” he said at last, voice far more level than I expected it would be, though it nearly sang with tension.

                “Oh? Perhaps, then, you are precisely the fool I thought you before I aided your quest. The Arkenstone is only a rock, Thorin Oakenshield; Bilbo is a hobbit of flesh and blood who would follow you to the edge of Middle Earth and back. If you cannot place one of those above the other, then you’ve no right to either.” There it was; rage flickered in his eyes, melting the ice of them until they nearly matched the flames he stared into. A certain pleasure filled me; I was not his friend and would never be his friend, and so I could not draw him from his sickness with friendship as some others might’ve been able to do. I was, however, his enemy, his rival in a sense, and his equal; he did not want me to win in anything, and with that, perhaps, I could aid in breaking the thrall of the gold.

                “You are as good as asking me if I would place him above my kingdom, elf.” I nodded, crossing my arms and letting my mouth flicker into a small smirk.

                “I am indeed. Would you not? There is not one who I would claim to care for that I would not throw away my own kingdom for, and for Bilbo, I would discard a million kingdoms and a million Arkenstones. If you love this treasure more than those who fought to get it back for you, then you are no king. Look at your company; they followed you on this quest believing that it was as good as suicide only because they believe you their king, because they respect you and care for you. It is not the Arkenstone they follow, nor is it the Arkenstone that inspired such loyalty.” He sat in silence for a time, and would not meet my gaze no matter how I tried to force him into it. Finally, though, he spoke again, voice low and final.

                “Twelve dwarves and a hobbit will not make my rule legitimate. I need the Arkenstone for that. Make certain that Bilbo wears that mail; I’ll have someone fetch the necklace and the stones for you tomorrow.” With that, he stood and swept away, and I could at least see something thoughtful in his eyes that made me believe he might yet be dragged from the sickness that had for so long plagued his family. I allowed myself a little smile when I knew none would see it; I had been able to do very little for Bilbo, so far, far less than he’d done for me in many ways. With this, perhaps I could at least start giving him all he deserved.  

* * *

 

                Bilbo returned quickly after he ate and settled beside me, speaking with me but very obviously not entirely with me; his mind wandered, and his fingers almost constantly trailed to the inner pocket of his vest, light and quick and unaware. I almost thought to ask what troubled him, but he gave me a look that quelled me into silence. Not even the mithril coat, which I even mentioned was from the dwarf, could fully hold his attention when I gave it to him and he put it on. That evening, though, when everyone else, even Oakenshield, finally fell into a fitful sleep, he led me to the silent hallway outside the treasury and began to ask me questions.

                “Will having the Arkenstone bring Thorin back to the way he was?” he whispered, and I stared for a moment, until at last I shook my head.

                “No. If anything, it will only make him worse. I have seen the Arkenstone before, Bilbo, and it’s more than simply a pretty rock. It will corrupt his heart.” He stiffened.

                “That is what the dragon told me. I thought that perhaps he was lying but… Thranduil, is there any way to help him?” I took his hand, light and careful as I was able, hoping to calm him and succeeding at least a bit.

                “I do not know. There is still something of him there, that I know, but I am not certain of how to bring that something back to the forefront. I do know, however, that he will struggle for as long as this cursed gold is here. Even still, I have been doing what I am able to help; if you and the others of the company would aid me, then perhaps his mind can be restored. I will not tell you that I know for certain when I do not, though. In any case, I do at least know that he must not be allowed to hold the Arkenstone.” Slowly, shakily, Bilbo nodded, and with equally shaky hands, I watched him slip something from the pocket he’d been playing with all evening, and knew it immediately for the Arkenstone. My breath caught.

                “I found it during my encounter with Smaug.”

                “Keep it hidden; show it to no others until we think of something to do with it.” He hid it away again immediately, nerves blatant on his face, and I took him into a loose hold that he seemed to appreciate greatly if the tightness with which he squeezed me was any indication.

                “Thank you,” he murmured, “for everything. For the dragon, for helping Thorin, for… for caring so much for me.” I laughed, the sound of it a bit weak even to my own ears.

                “It was not the first time I faced a dragon, Bilbo, nor is it the first time I’ve done something that seems a bit foolish in hindsight for one I love. I am only glad that I have you; I have not been so happy in decades upon decades. I had thought that I would never feel this way again, and mere words are not enough to express my gratitude and my love to you.” He looked up at me with soft, almost curious eyes, and for the first time in many moons, I let the glamor I wore slip from my face and show the scars that marred my face.

                His hand was gentle upon them, so gentle that it felt like little more than the brush of a feather. I spoke quietly, almost without truly knowing what I was saying as I said it. “This is why I did not lead my elves to fight against Smaug. I had felt dragon fire before, knew that many of them would die in his wake, and I could not bring myself to kill them for the dwarves. I had grown… tired of war, tired of fighting, tired of death. I am still tired of it, yet again I find myself being drawn into it by necessity. I suppose I did receive something in compensation for this, though; I am blind in the eye that was burned and do not see particularly well out of the other, but I have learned well how to rely on my other senses so that none know of my weakness, even in the winter when the scars make me ache more fiercely. So too have I gained a certain talent to see through magic; that is how I was able to find you in my dungeons. I could only see something like your silhouette, your shadow, but still I could see more than anyone else.”

                He pressed his lips sweetly to my burned cheek, then to my lips, hand clutching mine in a grip I almost thought too tight to belong to a hobbit. A weight seemed to fall from my shoulders; no one had been told of this in a very, very long time, and most of the world thought me entirely unaffected by that battle so many years before. It was an odd thing, to trust someone in this way again, to trust them with knowing. I was glad of the opportunity, glad of the acceptance, glad of the love bright in Bilbo’s eyes.

                “Thank you for telling me this,” he whispered, before he kissed me again and let me lead us back into the treasury again, where he curled into my side. I brought the glamor back quickly, for fear that someone might awaken and catch sight of me, and then felt my eyes drift closed as Bilbo settled his head upon my chest. “We will get through this, you know. We’ll make it right somehow.” The surety in his voice comforted me, and I couldn’t help but agree. Not even Gandalf, who came the next morning with my son and the girl Tauriel in tow (and oh, but was I ready to consign the boy to his rooms for the next millennia when I saw them) bearing news of war with the orcs could seem to dampen my hopes with Bilbo so confident at my side. Which isn’t to say that I didn’t try to send Legolas home the moment I heard the news, of course, but I did at least feel better than I would have the month before. Admittedly, though, the army of elves I sent for that arrived late that night, and the army of dwarves that arrived shortly after Gandalf and my son, likely helped as well.

                Bilbo flashed me a little smile as preparations began. Oakenshield left the treasury to aid in seeking armor and weapons. Yes, I couldn’t help but expect that things would end up alright after all, and despite the strangeness of the feeling, I’d rarely had any more welcome.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there'll just be one more chapter left to this one, now. I'm not totally sure what I'll work on next, though; I guess, since the first chapter of Gold Sick got posted, I might make it my main focus next, just so I don't have an unfinished one-chapter fic lying around on this account for forever.

                 We heard the orcs before we saw them; their feet pounded in rhythm with distant, booming drums, agonizingly low and honestly a bit painful. Something, perhaps their war bats, screeched, while some sort of horn tore through the air. I stood at the head of my elves; Arasson shifted beneath me, his discomfort at their approach obvious and a bit unnerving, as it took much to bring any sort of worry to the beast. I looked about to make certain that Bilbo hadn’t come outside and saw no sign of him, and tried desperately to keep how little that could mean, as I doubted I’d have any luck seeing him even with my additional sight in such a crowd and on so bright a day, from my mind.

                 Oakenshield and his dwarves stood amongst the dwarven army that had appeared, all of them shoulder to shoulder in a tight, unfamiliar formation, shields pressed together and blades jutting out from the cracks between. He ordered them in front of my elves and I, and it was easy to see that they planned to form some sort of barrier. I wondered how long it would hold, but I supposed I had to have some admiration for the tactic nonetheless. Bard, who led the haphazard army of men we’d gathered from the refugees, seemed somewhat unsure of what he was doing, and looked often towards Oakenshield, his cousin who called himself Dain, and myself, as if a simple glance at us would tell him how to lead an army. He soon seemed to decide that the best option would be to mix his swordsman with my own, and I gave him a nod as he rode to wait beside me.

                 “You’ve left Bilbo in the mountain?” he asked, and I nodded.

                 “I’ve watched enough people I love die in battle; I will not watch him do the same. I’d have left my son there too if I had any notion he’d have stayed,” I said, gesturing at the boy who rode proudly through the ranks, his horse nearly prancing, and couldn’t resist a faint smile as his ear twitched the moment I uttered the word ‘”son.” Bard looked set to say something until Legolas turned his horse towards us and settled at my other side. I nodded at him. He frowned.

                 “Father, don’t pretend as if you’re not pleased for my help,” he said, and I laughed, quiet and glad of the opportunity.

                 “Well, I suppose I ought to think you for bringing Tauriel; she is a far better shot than you, after all.” It had been a long time since I’d seen such a shocked look on his face, and it made my lips twitch faintly as he coughed, obviously making the attempt to recover from the statement.

                 “I’m better with my blade than she, though,” he said, and I shrugged.

                 “I suppose. You’ve yet to last more than five minutes against me, however, so I don’t expect you’re truly all that skillful. I’m sure if she cared to use a sword she’d surpass you quickly enough.” I tried to sound as lofty as I was able, which I’ve been told I’m quite skillful at doing, and Legolas looked to be fighting laughter.

                 “Oh, shut up, father; it’s been so long since you’ve fought that you’ve probably forgotten how to tell the pommel of your sword from the pointy end.” Bard looked away from the both of us, hiding his mouth with his palm as if we’d be offended to see his smile.

                 “When we get home, oh dearest son of mine, why don’t we test your theory, hm? See if you can stand for six minutes instead of five.” The orcs grew nearer. He grinned, wide and ready, and I lifted a hand. With the gesture, his bow rose with Bard’s, along with the bows of the army behind me. The dwarves hardened their line, stances going wide and strong.

                 “We’ll let Bilbo watch,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I’m sure he’ll love seeing you lose to me.” And that, oddly, made me smile more brightly than anything; Legolas was pleased with him, pleased at the idea of him living with us, and I could ask for nothing better. We would win this war, I decided, if only for the sake of that bright future. I drew my blade from its sheath and held it out, steady, easy; the orcs came ever forward, guttural cries ringing from low in their throats. Arasson settled beneath me; I was not afraid.

* * *

 

Bilbo’s POV

                Thranduil and Thorin both were mad if they thought I would stay in the mountain alone, wrapped tight in the mithril shirt Thorin had wanted me to have with nothing to do but await news, whether good or ill. I palmed the Arkenstone, thinking first of ways to dispose of it in the fray of battle, and then moved my hand to my ring, slipping it quickly onto my finger.

                The world around me turned watery and shadowy, as if I were covered in a thin, gauzy shroud, and I ran from the mountain, ducking deftly between and beneath soldiers as I moved. Orcs flooded the field, and I drew Sting, letting it slice at them as they ran towards the dwarves who’d taken the front line, and some, thinking it was a neighbor who’d cut them, turned on the rest. Elven arrows rained down upon them; a couple even thunked against my back, but the mithril protected me well, and the most damage I took was a graze to the cheek that could’ve been arrow or blade either one. Many ran chest-first into dwarven blades, trying to occupy them so those behind them could force through, all of them rabid and wild and only a scarce few of any worth with their weapons.

                It was a strange sight, to see things that in small numbers we could kill easily, but like this, so many of them and all of them with only the goal of killing all who stood in their way, we were far from assured of victory. Noises sounded everywhere; screaming and horns and footfalls from both sides, and the dwarven line broke. Elves and men drew blades, the battle turning into a flurry of action as wave after wave of orcs fell upon us. I had to stop the organization, somehow, that I knew; if I could do that, then their army would fall apart, since none would be able to take over. First, though, I had to find what they were using to give orders, and finally, finally noticed where their horn was coming from: some sort of contraption atop a hill, probably controlled by the Pale Orc. I think Thorin noticed it the same moment that I did, because he broke from the battle and set to running for the same hill I’d seen, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili behind him.

                I followed as well, at a bit more of a distance; I think Thranduil might have seen me at the end, when I reached the base of the hill, because I’m nearly certain I heard him call my name, loud and desperate enough that few would’ve believed it was the Elven King of Mirkwood who spoke, from where he stood in a wide circle of orc soldiers, blade held out and gleaming bright. I didn’t notice Legolas running after me, nor did I notice Thranduil’s worry mount at the sight of him on my heels.

                I jerked my ring off when we reached the top of the hill, too far for any of them to send me back, and I heard Legolas take in a sharp breath at the sight of me as the dwarves glared at both him and me, though for very different reasons. Thorin looked ready to haul me up by my coat and scream at me until I walked down the hill again of my own accord, but I’d long ago grown brave enough to stand up to him, no matter how I admired him.

                “Oh, father will kill me if anything happens to you,” Legolas grumbled, and Thorin gritted his teeth.

                “I will look after him, elf, worry not over that. I’ve kept that hobbit, fool he is, alive since he left that Shire of his,” Thorin snarled, and Kili snorted, rolling his eyes.

                “He’s kept us alive, more like,” he said, and Legolas nodded.

                “Quite; I assure you, father would have likely kept you all in the dungeon until you rotted were it not for him.” I almost heard Thorin’s teeth grinding as he whipped around, striding towards the signal and surely hoping to see Azog beside it, but no one was there. Trap; the thought screamed at me suddenly, just before two massive orcs, not quite as large as Azog himself, appeared. Both went right for Thorin and I ran forward without thinking, something I’d been doing far too often over my association with the dwarves, but I supposed… well, as I’ve said, they were the best friends I’d ever known.

                I’d hoped the one with the blade instead of the heavy mace would reach me first; the blade, after all, would do no damage through the mithril. The mace, though… Thorin tried to shove me out of the way, but for the first time, he was too slow. The mace struck me across the head, a glancing blow that probably would’ve killed me had Thorin not managed to move me a little, and I struck the snow-covered earth hard, the world fading into black to the sound of the dwarves’ battle cries and Legolas’ drawn bow.

* * *

 

Thranduil’s POV

                The battle ended the moment the eagles appeared, I knew that, and yet it didn’t feel like an end. I’d seen a shadow running up the hill to the signal that should not have been there, and I knew in my blood that it was Bilbo, just as I knew that the blonde figure who ran behind him was my son, certainly unaware that Bilbo was there and knowing only to follow the dwarves who were walking into what was likely a trap. The leader of this Orcish army would have lain that trap, would have lain in wait with the army’s best fighters. They would have stood little chance. _Bilbo_ would have stood little chance, mithril or no. Legolas… there was hope there, at least; he could fight well, and he knew always when to get away, even if he didn’t always follow the instinct. The dwarves, perhaps some might’ve survived, but I doubted all. Bilbo, though… Bilbo had skills, valuable ones, but they did not lie in battle.

                My body felt cold, frozen from the center out, in a way it hadn’t since my battle with the dragons of the north. Dread made my heart heavy, a certain hopelessness I had not missed since my time knowing Bilbo. Had he been an elf, I would have been able to know certainly whether he yet breathed or not; I had known the moment my wife had fallen, from the bond we shared. I spared every thought I could to prayers for his life, for my son’s life, and watched as the orc army fell apart like wet paper. The armies around me cheered. We had won, but I did not feel like I stood in victory.

                I ran back towards Erebor, towards the medical tents that had been arranged mere moments before the battle began, and my eyes focused onto Legolas, who stood worriedly in front of one the tents, immediately. I almost felt as if I flew to his side and wrapped him tight into a hug, and he settled his own arms loosely, limply, over my shoulders.

                “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and I felt something within me fall. Had he… I could scarcely believe it, and yet I could see few other reasons for apology. My eyes stung, every wound on my body turning shockingly numb all at once.

                “No,” I whispered, more to myself than to him, and he squeezed my shoulders.

                “I could not grab him before he ran in front of Oakenshield; a mace struck him over the head.”

                “He is gone, then?” I managed, and Legolas stepped back. He did not smile, but still he shook his head.

                “Unconscious only, but the healers don’t know if he will ever awaken. Time will tell it, they say. Oakenshield is waiting at his side; he found the Arkenstone on Bilbo when the healers took his coat so they could better see all the damage done, and started weeping. I think he sent that big dwarf with the tattoos to throw it into the forges. His nephews are in there as well.” My heart nearly stopped. I squeezed his arms one last time and slid by him into the tent.

                Bilbo lay there, limp and still, Oakenshield collapsed in a chair by his bed and the princes standing on either side of him. My mind flashed again with visions of my wife, pale and thin in my arms, blood spilling onto white snow. I was clutching his hand before I even realized I’d moved to do it, apologies tumbling one after another from my mouth, regret for my failure in keeping him safe, anger that he’d been hurt, and a depression I’d thought gone once I saw his face all fighting to overcome me. My hand shook. Oakenshield laughed, bitter and low, head held in his hand. One of his braids was missing, and an old knife lay on the floor, abandoned and sharp, beside a clump of dark strands. I almost couldn’t believe that this had affected him so as well; I suppose I’d never really believed that he’d cared for Bilbo as anything more than his quest’s burglar, useless once his task was done, no matter how many times he and others told me he saw the hobbit as a dear friend.

                “You… have failed in nothing, Elf Lord,” he murmured. “Were it not for me… were it not for me, for my quest, for my madness, he would not have…,” he could not finish the sentence for the catching of his voice, hoarse and low in his throat. My son stepped into the room slowly to stand at my side, hand gentle on my shoulder and sharp face kind and unusually soft. Bilbo breathed, deep and steady and slow, on the bed between us, dwarf and elf.

                “I swore I would not let him be hurt,” I said, “I swore I would let no one I loved be hurt again.”

                “It was never you who put him at risk. My madness, that damn stone… I am glad to know it will be rid of. This is the second blow he has taken for me, Elf Lord; the first, he was not hurt, not truly, but this… without meaning to do it, he saved me twice from the hands of orcs and once from the darkness of my own mind. I… am glad to have known him; I have never known any finer. I am glad also that he… that someone loves him as well as you, and is so devoted to his happiness.” Thorin’s nephews settled hands on each of his shoulders, their own eyes full with unshed tears. I squeezed his hand more tightly. He groaned once, so quiet that I could barely hear it, and then again, more loudly this time.

                His eyes fluttered behind his eyelids. His mouth twitched. Slowly, so very, painfully slowly, he stumbled into wakefulness, and squeezed my hand in return. His eyes were warm and tired, his lips curling into a soft, sweet smile. I wept above him, openly and for the first time in decades, and took both he and my son into my arms, holding them as if I feared they would vanish if I let go.

                “I’m well, Thranduil, you and Thorin can stop worrying so,” he said, voice quiet and a bit hoarse, but I didn’t loosen my hold in the slightest. Thorin, too, cried his happiness with his nephews, the three of them hunched over the bed and smiling through their tears.

                “You and Legolas worry me far too fiercely,” I whispered, my voice sounding weak and thready even to my own ears. “Must I keep you both forever tied to either arm to keep you from doing things so reckless?” They both laughed, as if they relished in harrowing me so, and Bilbo pressed the softest of kisses to the corner of my mouth.

                “It’s over now,” he sighed, “We’re all safe, and the quest is done. Thorin, I… the Arkenstone…,” the dwarf king shook his head, settling one hand lightly atop the hobbit’s curls.

                “I am at fault, Bilbo; the Arkenstone is being destroyed as we speak. I will not be the slave to gold my grandfather was. You are a hero in more ways than one, Bilbo. You will be honored amongst us, both as that and as my dearest friend.” Happiness, pure and simple: it had been a long time since I’d felt it, and yet at that moment, I could describe my emotions as nothing else. For once, everything had worked out for the better, and the future seemed brighter than any I’d ever dared imagine. All that was left, I supposed, was to let Bilbo heal for a time, and then… then, he and my son and my army and I were going home. I’d never before had so pleasant a thought after so terrible a day.


	14. Chapter 14

                Admittedly, I was quite impressed by the creativity of dwarves; it had been some time since I’d met any one group capable of creating so many excuses seemingly right off the tops of their heads. Perhaps a day after Bilbo awoke, I sent Legolas to lead my army back to Mirkwood, mostly simply because he was getting far too friendly with the dwarf princes and I didn’t expect my sanity would survive that particular friendship if I was forced to examine it for too long. Besides, it made him happy, me giving him that responsibility, trusting him to lead them back alone. I almost laughed at the shock on his face when I asked him to do it, the smile that bloomed immediately after.

                Truly I didn’t worry, though, or at least not near as much as I might have the day before; it had been a long time since I’d really watched him fight. I hadn’t realized how strong, how capable, he’d become. Really it was almost saddening, but then I expected he’d but get annoyed at me for saying so. I could only hope he’d have a child one day so that he might understand, though even then he’d likely refuse to admit to me that he’d felt the same as I. In any case, Legolas left, and I planned to follow with Bilbo a few days after, once he had a bit more time to rest and recover, but obviously the dwarves were quite actively against it. On my first attempt, I almost made it out of the mountain with him before he started insisting on saying goodbye. I thought it foolish, as I knew precisely what would happen, but he, of course, didn’t believe it would cause any trouble and I didn’t have it in me to deny him something so simple, especially not after I’d rushed from my own kingdom to save a dwarven one at his whim.

                Neither of us were truly adept at navigating the mountain, but he did better than I, so I let him lead and eventually we came across what was then serving as the throne room, Thorin at the head of an enormous cluster of dwarves, jobs being doled out seemingly by the hundreds. Honestly I couldn’t understand how there could be so much to repair; the mountain looked barely any different inside to me than it ever had. At the sight of Bilbo, though, the whole group of dwarves parted widely, as if scared to even brush by him. A few of them made it a point to elbow me in the back of my knees, as if desperate to prove the point that that particular respect didn’t extend to me. I suppose at least most of them had the good sense to pretend as if it were an accident, and the ones that didn’t were all a part of Thorin’s company. Perhaps they saw it as a strange form of friendship, I didn’t know; it had been so long since I’d associated with dwarves that I’d forgotten how they expressed such things. So long as none of them attempted to head-butt me, I supposed I was fine with it; I was nearly certain that that particular form of affection had broken bones, after all.

                In any case, Bilbo wandered to Thorin first and offered up a little bow, but the dwarf king only laughed and shook his head, standing from the throne and bowing himself instead.

                “I would not be here if not for you and the rest of the company, Bilbo; I do not wish you or they to bow to me. What have you come for?” he asked, and Bilbo smiled, sweet and small.

                “To say goodbye, I suppose. Thranduil and I were going to travel to Mirkwood, and then perhaps to the Shire so I might gather those things I wish to keep and make certain none of my less savory relatives get their claws stuck in Bag End. By now I’m sure there’s a right mess going on about who owns it if I never come back, after all.” I could see the thoughts flash rapid-fire across Oakenshield’s face; his smile wavered, his hand twitched, he glanced at the rest of the company scattered over the room, obviously thinking of a way to make Bilbo stay. Admittedly, he was far from the most creative of them, but he was the one who paved the way.

                “Already? You’ve only just been allowed out of bed, Bilbo; how in the world do you plan to travel so far?” He blinked.

                “Mirkwood isn’t so very far, Thorin,” he said, chuckling quietly, and I took a half-step closer. Oakenshield turned to eye me instead.

                “If your elf needs to get back, I assure you that you may stay here with us until you’re fully healed, and we will send a party to deliver you to Mirkwood.” Oh, yes, and then I might see him again in about five years, when Oakenshield deemed him well enough to travel, and likely then only for a few days, as his condition would surely still be too precarious to let him stay for long. No, if he insisted on Bilbo staying longer, I would remain with him so that at least I would be assured of him eventually getting to Mirkwood.

                “And how long do you deem it would take for him to be fit enough for such a terribly long journey, oh king under the mountain?” I asked, and he raised one thick brow, looking as if he wanted to cross his arms.

                “A week, at least. Come, Bilbo, it won’t be so awful to spend a bit more time with us, will it? There’ll be a feast in celebration tonight, after all, and I’m sure celebrations would not be near as merry without you to partake in them.” Bilbo took a moment to look like he was considering it despite everyone knowing the moment he spoke the words that he would stay. I sighed.

                “That will be alright, I suppose. I suppose I shall go settle Arasson back beneath the shelter; we will stay another week, but no more.” I ran a quick hand through Bilbo’s hair, turned, and left to do as I’d said. I saw Bilbo little over the next week, too many dwarves piling about him for attention, all of them just-so-happening to mention things they just wished so _desperately_ Bilbo would be around to see.

                “Oh, Bilbo, the library will just be so glorious when it’s clean!” the homely scribe gushed.

                “Uncle used to tell us of this cave where the stone on the ground looked like water, and that above looked like draped curtains. He said that there were beautiful crystals in the walls, worth little but glinting every color he knew to name, and that whenever anyone spoke there, it sounded like a song,” the younger prince said one afternoon, and the older nodded.

                “Yes, I’m sure you’d love it, but it’ll likely take much time indeed to find it again and make certain it’s still safe.”

                “I’ve heard that a particular group of dwarves who lived here had a talent for fabric making. I expect we’ll find the place where they worked soon enough, and much will likely still be fit for use,” the one with the intricate braids told him thoughtfully. On and on they went, from claiming a wealth of smoking pipes surely being kept in the deepest cave that would take the longest to reach to assurances of a faraway kitchen that would allow them to make meals fit for a thousand Shire feasts. By the time a week passed and Bilbo was as fit as ever, his hair clean and trimmed and his tattered garments replaced with the most suitably hobbit-y things anyone could find, I was almost expecting one of them to get desperate enough to claim a replica of Bag End in the farthest hall, all ready for Bilbo to stay in if only he’d wait for it to be found. I’m almost certain that once I finally got him to the door, the company all there for last goodbyes, one of them tried to kidnap him and it was but my own quick arm about his shoulder that stopped it.

                There was much hugging and many promises to visit were made on both sides, with myself reluctantly agreeing both to allow Bilbo to come back there and to allow dwarves in Mirkwood as guests for the first time since Erebor had been lost. I found it rather funny that a hobbit would go down in history as the catalyst to dwarves and elves regaining moderately civil relations with one another. Still, I was glad when it was over, and gladder still to be going home again, Bilbo ever at my side.

                It was not truly a long journey, as Bilbo had said, but it felt like decades before we arrived. Horns sounded as we neared the palace, and Bilbo tilted his head back to look at me as if to make certain that was supposed to happen, and I chuckled.

                “Arasson is a loyal creature, and the finest mount and companion I could ask for, but I’m afraid he is not precisely built for stealth. The guards likely saw us miles ago and had a welcome party arranged.” He laughed a little, and after we rode perhaps another half mile, the welcome party I’d predicted now marching in front of us, Legolas seemed to almost fly at us, face bright and pleased.

                “Father!” he said, then seemed to settle himself, as if unwilling to even look slightly as if he’d missed my presence. “I’m glad to see you back; I think the people were starting to think I’d killed you and usurped the throne. Now they’ll just think you’ve somehow managed to get yourself brainwashed by a hobbit, which is far better for me as they’ll depose you themselves and I’ll still have the throne.” Bilbo stared.

                “You sound far too much like Fili,” he said at last, shaking his head. “I find myself suddenly and inexplicably glad you’ve no little brother.” Legolas took a moment to pretend offense at being compared to the dwarves, then only laughed, wild and open, prancing along beside us towards the palace.

                “I expect it’s going to be far more pleasant living here with you around here, Bilbo,” he said, almost conversational, glancing at me as if to make certain that Bilbo would, indeed, be living with us, and I nodded. 

                “I imagine it will be, yes,” I said, squeezing him lightly, and Legolas rolled his eyes.

                “When you’re not too busy, Bilbo, I’ll show you about. Tauriel has been dying to meet you,” he said, and Bilbo only looked pleased to already be so included. I could only hope that I’d be able to make him feel so welcome there for the rest of our lives. My palace stretched towards the heavens before us, tangling with the trees, and I smiled again, my skin prickling, as we dismounted Arasson and walked inside at last. I was home again; I could scarce believe I was seeing it again.

                “That will likely have to wait, however,” I said, taking the hobbit by the hand. “We’ve ridden without pause for some time so that we could get here as quickly as possible. Would you like to rest with me for a time, Bilbo?” I asked, and the hobbit grinned so brightly I thought it would sting my skin.

                “Certainly,” he said, and Legolas only rolled his eyes and snorted quietly, something I was almost certain he’d picked up from the dwarves, which I would have to have a discussion with them about. In any case, at that particular moment, I had more important things to worry over. I led Bilbo through the winding halls, sparing nods to those who greeted us, and finally came across the doors to my room, grander than perhaps they had a right to be, but I had not been the one to have them made. He gaped a bit at the sight of it all, full lips slightly parted, and I closed the doors behind me, bending down to kiss him soundly.

                He made a happy sort of noise, low in his throat, honey eyes closing as he lifted himself onto his toes so I didn’t have to bend so far, soft hands settling on my arms. I pulled away, leading him towards the bed, and he flopped down on it, myself following in a way I hoped was a bit more graceful. He grinned up at me where I was settled above him, eyes sparkling, and I ran a hand over his cheek. When he leaned into the touch it almost seemed subconscious, and I couldn’t resist the urge to kiss him again, less chaste this time, deeper. He followed easily, eyes slowly sliding closed again, soft sounds vibrating against my lips. I let my hand trail to his new coat, starting to slip it off and moving with him when he sat up to aid me.

                It felt so easy, moving with him, so natural, and it had been so long since I’d felt thusly that I almost found it as disorienting as a few knocks to the nose. His vest and his shirt I had more trouble with, though, had to pull away so I could see, and that was far more difficult than it should’ve been, especially with his warm gaze, a little darker now with passion, settled on me so steadily. Soft sighs slid from hi periodically when my hand brushed skin, and it took little time at all before he was fiddling with the collar of my robe as I worked the buttons of his shirt, likely trying to figure out how to open it.

                I had the inane thought that I needed to have some made with simpler mechanisms, perhaps simple buttons; it wouldn’t look as nice, certainly, but it would be far better for situations such as this. He seemed to think so as well, given the way he set to yanking at the collar, and a breathless laugh spilled from me as I got the last button of his shirt undone and batted his hands away. I found the hidden hooks easily, if only because of practice, and shrugged the robe away as he managed his breeches, shimmying them down before I gently lay him back down to hover above him again. I couldn’t resist another peck to his lips before I settled my mouth to his neck, my own eyes finally closing at the quiet sounds of his pleasure.

                His hands tangled in my hair, loose but so obviously present that I couldn’t help but be especially aware of them; it had been a very long time since anyone had touched my hair, and I’d forgotten how much I liked the feel of it. He felt so small beneath me, I thought, sucking a small mark onto the place where neck met shoulder, nipping his collarbone, letting the fingers of one hand tease his nipples while I used the other to help hold myself up. There was still a strength to him, though, something about the way he held himself, the aura that hovered around him; no one could possibly mistake him for weak unless they simply didn’t look at him closely. His body arched against mine, more another tease for us both than anything, and I groaned as softly as I could manage against his skin.

                I thought of all I could do, all the time I could spend with him this way, and realized suddenly and with something like annoyance that I’d have patience for almost none of it then. Later, though, I decided, later I would act on every passing thought, work him open until he could take me, taste him until my name was all that passed his lips. For then, though… I sat up, quick, fluid, and pulled him with me, settling him on my lap and wrapping my hand around us both.

                The noise he made then was high and shocked, and his hands fell from my hair to clutch at my shoulders, his eyes clenching closed, small body shuddering and hunched. I let my free hand stroke his back, my own breath coming quick and harsh, my legs quivering just as his.

                “Are you alright?” I asked, barely even recognizing my own voice, so low it had become. He laughed, a little shaky but genuine, and offered me a teasing smile.

                “Strangely, I don’t think I’ve ever been better,” he said, hips twisting a little, pressing himself more firmly against me. I allowed a little laugh of my own and stroked us both slowly, the feel of hot, velvet-smooth skin against mine seeming the finest sensation I’d ever known. His head thumped against my shoulder, lips and tongue moving over the skin he could reach, hands growing bolder in exploring my body, and I struggled to keep a rhythm, especially as he began to thrust in time with my hand.

                I started focusing more on him instead of trying to work us both simply because I didn’t imagine I could last much longer otherwise. He moaned, low and sweet, as my hand twisted around him, thumb teasing the head, and his toes started curling in the sheets, him obviously unaware that he was doing any of it, and I tilted his head up to kiss him again. He followed my mouth desperately, wet and a little clumsy now but no less pleasurable for it, and I could feel it when he was getting close.

                His body went as taut as any bowstring, and he groaned against my mouth, the flush that had painted his cheeks from the start trailing down his neck and chest, even darkening the tips of his ears. He came suddenly and I worked him through it as he shivered on my lap, eyes slowly opening, flush not really fading but lightening a little, and he smiled, a sated, lazy sort of smile. I moved my hand towards myself again, but his smile got a little sharper and he batted it away, instead taking me in his own hand, twisting loose and easy. I wrapped my arms so tightly around him that I was almost afraid I’d hurt him, but he gave no sign of discomfort, instead staying perched upon my lap as if he belonged there, fingers twisting under the head, experimental, feeding off whatever reactions I gave.

                It was an exquisite sort of torture, the sort I’d face every day, and again the thoughts of all I would do when I had more time and more energy flashed across my mind. I didn’t precisely expect it when I came, wrapping myself tight around him, his hand pressed warm between our bodies. Shamed as I am to admit it, the both of us lay down, him curled into my chest, and fell into a deep sleep before we even bothered to clean ourselves off. Needless to say, we did not arrive at dinner on time, and I don’t expect my son will ever look so amused at me ever again.

* * *

 

One year later:

Bilbo’s POV

                As if anyone didn’t already know, it’s strange co-ruling an elven kingdom, especially when you’re a hobbit who’s never ruled anything more than an empty house in his life. Not to say it was unpleasant, not really; more, it was an… adventure, one that brought new things with every passing day. Sometimes I didn’t enjoy the job, of course; sometimes not even Thranduil did, and before I’d met him I’d thought that he, of all kings, would be pleased with the work. Other times, though, it was perhaps one of the most rewarding things I’d ever done. Really I was only surprised that the people had grown so fond of me in so short a time, as if I’d always been there ruling at Thranduil’s side. Stranger still was how no gray ever seemed to start threading through my hair as it normally did hobbits my age. Thranduil had had an unusually enlightening answer from one normally fond of riddles.

                “The gods are not cruel, Bilbo; you are my One, our lives are bound and only tragedy, not time, may break it.” I know I looked at him like a fool when he said that.

                “So I will live an elf’s lifespan?” I questioned, and he nodded, head tilted slightly to one side.

                “If you so choose, yes. I suppose we could always go to the Gray Havens, but truly I was not yet ready to leave.” I laughed, shaking my head and taking him tightly in my arms. He returned the gesture with an easy I never would have expected anyone to have with me.

                “Nor am I; I was only curious, but I am glad that I mustn’t suffer the pain of leaving you alone.” He laughed.

                “Not as glad as I am to not suffer the pain of you leaving.” That I could believe, and easily. I kissed his cheek to clear the thought, then his lips for my own pleasure, and stepped away, remembering suddenly that Legolas and my nephew, Frodo, who Thranduil and I had discovered needed a place to stay when we went to Bag End to retrieve my things, had been gone for hours and that was generally far from a good sign, especially given that the dwarves were meant to be coming for a visit some time that day.

                “Oh, dear,” I murmured, and he glanced down at me.

                “Something the matter, love?” he asked, and I told him of my realization. He went wide-eyed for but a moment, something like pure terror painting his expression, before he whipped around, robes fluttering, and started marching outside. I followed as quickly as I was able, and kept up rather well if I do say so myself, even if I did have to run to match his quick walk. He yelled for Legolas and I yelled for Frodo and neither of us got an answer. I only hoped Frodo hadn’t managed to hurt himself with the silly bow Legolas was teaching him to use. Thranduil likely only hoped that Legolas hadn’t managed to get himself into trouble. I don’t think either of us expected what we found when we actually came across them, though, settled on the edge of the path to the palace with the dwarves already amongst them.

                Fili and Kili chattered quietly with Legolas and Tauriel, the four of them catching each other up on the things letters hadn’t been able say. Kili handed Tauriel a flower, flush brilliant on his face, and she rolled her eyes but took it all the same, placing it in her own hair. Legolas snorted, turning to tease her just as Fili teased Kili. Frodo sat on Thorin’s knee, grinning brightly at whatever story he was telling, and the look on Thorin’s face was warmer than he’d ever admit, soft and kind and so different from the expectation I’d had of him when I met him. The other dwarves chatted amongst themselves, pointing at things or commenting on Thorin’s sweetness or Kili’s crush and making bets like always and I felt my heart warm at the sight of them. My hand closed around Thranduil’s, and he grinned down at me, snorting (which he swore only his son did, and that his son had gotten it from the dwarves and not from him) like he wasn’t just as charmed by the sight as I.

                The whole lot of them grinned at us when they noticed that we’d arrived, pausing their conversations and stories to welcome us in, and I smiled through the field of dwarven hugs, ready for all the stories they would have to tell about our time apart and feeling happier than I’d ever imagined I could be after all the mess that had gotten us here. I was home again, I decided, even if I was so very far from the place home had originally been, and I didn’t mind it at all. I couldn’t help but think that my mother would be pleased, and probably my father too, just as soon as mother managed to work him through the shock of it all. I laughed to myself, looking around at them all, my friends, my nephew, my lover, and knew that though I had expected none of this when I raced after the dwarven party that fateful morning in the shire, I had ended up right where I was meant to be.


End file.
